The OverHouse
by chillbook1
Summary: The 26 Heroes of Overwatch share a house together, where they go on missions, hang out, and try not to murder each other. That last bit is harder than it sounds.
1. Breakfast

"Coffee…:

Reaper found very few pleasures in his new life after death. Coffee was one of those few pleasures. It was one of the few things that made living with the other 21 enhanced beings almost tolerable. That was why Reaper alone was the one who rose at the crack of dawn, moving throughout the Overwatch House like a shadow. He would have his coffee before running into any of his housemates or he would simply have to kill them, and 76 had made it very clear that that sort of thing was heavily frowned upon.

Reaper swooped into the kitchen silently, his dark coat billowing behind him as he searched through one of the many, many cabinets. When he found what he was looking for, a small can of dark, beautiful coffee, he turned for the pot.

Standing in his path was a short, thin, grinning woman with freckles and a mess of spiky brown hair. She wasn't fully dressed for combat like Reaper, instead opting for dark blue pajamas with tiny Union Jacks plastered all over.

"Morning, Gabe!" said Tracer brightly. Reaper instinctively reached for his shotguns before remembering that he was on strike two, and any more friendly fire would earn him probation.

So, instead of murdering Tracer, Reaper decided to side-step her and make his way for the coffee pot.

"Ah, one of those days, eh?" asked Tracer, undisturbed.

"Every day is one of those days," growled Reaper. He added the beans to a filter, then slipped that into the coffee maker. Now, all that was left for him to do was wait. And, since Tracer gave no indication that she would be leaving, Reaper was stuck with her. "Why are you awake? You don't normally wake up until noon."

"Yeah, but Pops started to get on my case about staying in too late," said Tracer, jumping onto the counter and digging through the cabinets. "Figured I'd try getting started a bit early."

"So you can do things like stand on his counter?"

"Oh. Right." Tracer jumped down, then headed for the fridge. "Hey, what's on the schedule for today?"

"Your monkey friend is doing a gear inspection." Reaper had to try really hard not to pull out his gun and shoot Tracer in the face. He hated small talk. "Then, a few basic missions."

"Did ya catch who was on my team?"

"Song and Zhou. Lijiang Tower," said Reaper. He grabbed the freshly brewed coffee and produced two mugs from the depths of his coat. "How do you take your coffee?" Tracer blinked twice, tilting her head in confusion.

"Eh? Did the big, bad Reaper just offer lil ol' me a cuppa?" Tracer was shocked, but learned long ago not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Er… Cream and two sugars."

"Of course you do," snarled Reaper. He filled his cup, then Tracer's. Then, he reached into his coat and withdrew a carton of cream and a jar of sugar cubes, of which he added the appropriate amount to Tracer's coffee.

"Where do you get that stuff from?"

"Shut up and drink, Oxton."

"Fair 'nuff. Cheers, mate." Tracer sipped her coffee, standing across from a man who should have been her mortal enemy. It was strange, but nice. Even Reaper had to admit that Tracer wasn't so bad if she wasn't talking. A calm, peaceful silence descended upon the room, which remained unbroken until a robe-clad, slipper-wearing medic happily bounced into the room.

"Guten morgen, my friends," said Mercy. "How are you today?"

"Morning, Angela, always good to see you in the morning," said Tracer. "Hey, get a load of this; Gabe just fixed me a coffee!"

"Yes, and I suppose next you want me to believe that Jamison cleaned his room," scoffed Mercy. Reaper growled before sipping from his mug, savoring the dark bitterness of the drink. It reminded him of himself.

"Only to shut her up," Reaper promised. "It will not happen again."

"Incredible. We must find the source of this new goodwill." Mercy gave Reaper a warm smile, hoping that some of her good-nature would permeate his cloak of rage. "Now, if you do not mind, I need to get into that cabinet. I need the skillet for eggs."

Reaper stiffened slightly, but stepped out of the way. He felt something right then that he had long since forgotten. He was actually… happy about something.

"Aw, yeah! You're the best cook I've ever seen!" said Tracer excitedly. Mercy smiled, then went about grabbing the things she needed.

"I just do my best with what I have. I better get started before Reinhardt and Roadhog wake up. Between those two, it's a wonder there's ever anything to eat at all!"

"Want some help?" offered Tracer.

"If you could crack some eggs and beat them, that would be wunderbar. Oh, and Gabriel, please head to the basement and grab the bacon from the storage freezer."

"Fine." Reaper looked down, searching the floor for an entrance. There was a small crack in the wood near the fridge, which was all he needed. Reaper crossed his arms into an X over his chest and began to glow dark, deep purple. After a short second, he vanished through the tiny gap.

"He's being quite chipper today," noted Tracer. "Well, compared to normal."

"How strange. I welcome it, though," said Mercy. She grabbed flour and sugar from the cabinets, then a bowl to mix them in. "Hm… What say you, Lena? Pancakes or waffles?"

"Don't make much difference to be. They're basically the same, the way I look at things."

"Maybe Gabriel can decide…"

As if summoned by his very name, Reaper reemerged from the floor, clutching a package of bacon. He set it down on the counter and returned to his coffee.

"So, Gabriel, the decision falls to you," said Mercy. "Would you prefer pancakes or waffles?"

"I am a harbinger of death. A symbol of rage and vengeance," snarled Reaper. "I bring destruction with me wherever I may go. The few survivors I leave tell legends of my power, and fear to speak my name in more than a hushed whisper. Yet you ask me about breakfast."

"Ja, but even harbingers of death need breakfast."

Reaper opened his mouth, then closed it when he realized he couldn't really argue with that logic.

"Waffles," he said. Then, after a moment of thought, he added, "With chocolate chips." Mercy chuckled, then wagged her finger in disapproval.

"That's no way to get something you want."

Reaper glared from behind his mask, trying to decide which would be more satisfying: chocolate chips or murdering Mercy.

"Chocolate chips... Please."

"For you, Gabriel, anything."

* * *

"Pass the marmalade!" shouted Junkrat, his voice echoing throughout the massive dining hall. Roadhog silently passed the jar to his friend, who then slathered his entire plate with the orange jelly. Shaking his head in disgust, Roadhog lifted his entire plate (which was roughly the size of a truck tire) and sloppily gobbled his breakfast.

Across from them sat Pharah, who quietly ate her oatmeal whilst awkwardly chatting with her mother. Further down was Mei, Hana and Lucio who cheerfully discussed last night's mission. Then there was Zarya and Reinhardt, who were engaged in some sort of contest to see who could consume the most biscuits (Zarya was winning).

Finally, near the head of the table, sat Tracer, a very tired Mercy, and Reaper. While Mercy and Tracer chatted the morning away, Reaper silently picked his way through breakfast.

"Hey, anyone see Pops?" asked Tracer. "He's not on a mission, is he?"

"No, I don't believe he is," said Mercy. "He is probably just getting some rest. You know how hard he works to keep everything running smooth. If anyone deserves to sleep in, it's Jack."

"Yea, I know. Still, wish he was around more," said Tracer. She stabbed at her eggs. "There's a lot to learn from him." She turned to the left and grinned. "Oh, here he comes now. Pops! Over here, we saved ya a seat!"

Reaper growled quietly, watching the very bane of his existence as he swiftly crossed the hall. As the eldest and most respected of them all, he was greeted by all who he passed, even those who had tried to kill him in the past. Soon enough, Jack made it to the seat Tracer promised him and sat down.

"Morning, Lena, Angela," said 76. "Reyes." He was the second most dressed person in the hall, donning his signature "76" jacket and almost all of his combat gear (save for his visor and gun).

"We have a mission together," said Reaper angrily.

"I'm aware. Lena, would you mind passing the bacon? I'm starving."

"Sure thing, Pops." Tracer happily passed the plate, which 76 immediately began to pull from to build his own meal.

"Ey, Gramps!" Lucio stood up from the other end of the table. "Eggs are over here if you want em!"

"Please and thanks." 76 didn't need to shout. His gravelly voice carried throughout the room even if he whispered.

"I got you!" Lucio grabbed the platter of eggs, then his Sonic Amplifier. He tossed the plate up and carefully fired off a shockwave, launching the plate across the room. 76 cracked his knuckles, then leapt into the air, catching the plate without a single morsel of egg hitting the floor.

"Thanks," he called, before digging in. Lucio laughed.

"See, D? I told you he could catch it!"

Reaper stabbed at his breakfast violently.

"Showoff," he snarled. "You always did have a thing for flair."

"Only if that flair works. After all this time, you should know that I value function over form," said 76. "And, if I recall correctly, you were always the dramatic one of the team."

"Oh? And how do you figure?"

76 stood up, spread his arms wide, and began spinning.

"Death walks among you! Die! Die! Die!"

"I… I don't sound like that," said Reaper unconvincingly, barely heard over the tumultuous laughter that echoed through the hall. 76 chuckled, then fell back into his seat.

"Yeah, you do. Anyway, we're headed to Volskaya, aren't we?" asked 76.

"Omnic trouble. As usual. Fifty bots took over the plant. We scrap them." Reaper pushed his empty plate forward, then picked up what remained of his coffee. "Why is it that I'm the only one here he seems to remember the schedules?"

"I think a better question might be 'how do ya eat with that mask on'?" said Tracer, sipping her orange juice.

"Shut up, Oxton."

"We all have things on our minds, Gabriel," said 76. "Some of us are just more narrow-minded than others. All you worry about is the mission, coffee, and killing me."

"Untrue. I also think about how much I despise Ziegler for turning me into… this." Mercy rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, you cannot still be going on about the nanite thing!" exclaimed Mercy. "How many times do I have to apologize? Just for the record, Gabriel, I am very sorry I saved your life! I'll never do it again!"

Reaper looked down at his coffee, then back up to Mercy. He took a sip of his drink.

"Apology accepted."


	2. Overwatch Go

"Do you see anything?" asked Hana, scrolling through her phone. Her partner for the day was… not someone she would have willingly chosen, to say the least. Hana tended to stay as far away from Widowmaker as physically possible, a sentiment that the assassin returned in full force. If it were up to her, she would be doing this mission alone. Still, even Widowmaker found herself obeying 76's commands.

The two sat atop a cliff overlooking the infamous Route 66, where the Deadlock Gang were supposed to be moving arms through to their hideout. Widowmaker and Hana were tasked with eliminating the gang. There was just one problem.

The Deadlock Gang was late.

"I see everything, little girl," said Widowmaker, staring down her scope. Hana rolled her eyes, but managed to refrain from responding. Widowmaker had this condescending, holier-than-thou attitude that Hana despised. It reminded her of some of the less desirable parts of her StarCraft days.

"Right. Stupid question," Hana booted up one of her favorite mobile games in an attempt to kill time. "Do you see anything interesting?" Widow was silent for a moment, then she lowered her gun to the ground.

"No."

"Hm. Well, what are you doing, then?" asked Hana.

"Do not speak to me anymore."

"You know what? Whatever." Hana should have known better than to try speaking with Widow. "Don't even know why I tried." Hana jumped to her feet, dusting the red sand from her suit. Without a word to her partner, she began walking a bit to the left.

"Where are you going?" asked Widow. Hana didn't respond. "Answer me, girl!"

"Oh, am I allowed to speak to you now?" Hana stuck out her tongue teasingly.

"You know what I meant. Do not speak to me unless I speak to you first." Widowmaker grabbed her rifle and strapped it to her back before spinning on her butt to face the child she was forced to babysit. "I don't like repeating myself."

"I don't like bullies, yet here you are," said Hana. She shook her head, deciding not to cause too much trouble for herself. "There's a Pokestop over there, and I need to fill up on Potions."

Widowmaker never liked to seem less intelligent than anyone else in the room. She especially hated it when what she perceived to be an infant knew something she didn't.

"Stop making up words," demanded Widow. "English may not be my first language, but I still know when I am being mocked."

"Ugh. If my room wasn't right next to your's, I'd have thought you live under a rock!" Hana shook her head, then returned to Widow. "Look, it's a game. You do have that where you're from, don't you? Whatever circle of hell that may be?"

"One day, you will regret your disrespect. What manner of game is this?"

"It's called Pokemon Go. You go around with your phone and try to catch Pokemon—"

"What is a Pokemon?" asked Widowmaker. Hana shook her head again, then held out her hand.

"Give me your phone," ordered Hana. With a shrug, Widowmaker reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, black, downright ancient flip phone. Hana looked at it, shuddered in disgust, then looked back down at her own phone. "Yeah… I don't think it'll work with what you have."

"Show me on yours." Widowmaker didn't make a lot of requests, but she did have plenty of demands.

"Look, you basically just walk around capturing little monsters," said Hana. "Here, there's a Charmander right over there." Hana pointed a bit to Widow's right. Widowmaker peered and strained her vision as much as she could.

"I see no monster." Hana groaned, then shoved her phone under Widow's nose.

"You have to use this, dumb-dumb."

"I see… What is the point of the monsters?" Widowmaker carefully took the phone in her hands, tapping the little red and white ball carefully.

"You can use them to battle each other. Plus, they're cute," said Hana, matter-of-factly. "Now, you just flick the little ball at them and hope they stay in."

"That sounds so pointless," remarked Widow.

"Then give me my phone back."

"No. I like this one. His tail is on fire." Widowmaker flicked a Pokeball. "Reminds me of Fawkes, but less obnoxious. And likely more useful."

Widowmaker failed to catch the Charmander, and became obsessed with making it her's. Hana smirked, then pulled out her backup phone for her third favorite pastime after video games and combat: social media. She updated her status, took a few selfies with Widow (who remained so enamored in the game that she hardly noticed). She texted Lucio and Tracer, informing them of the amusing situation, then prank called Reaper just for fun. After about fifteen minutes of silence, Hana felt a pang in her stomach which could only mean one thing: lunchtime.

"Hey, Widow. Aren't you getting hungry?" asked Hana.

"No. Do not speak to me anymore."

Hana swore in her native language, then tapped the button on the inside of her wrist. Pink light beamed down, manifesting her beautiful, beloved battle mech. She patted it lovingly, then went around the back and popped open a back panel to the "trunk" of the mech. Hana reached in and pulled out her lunch box, as packed by Mei.

"Hm, let's see what Mei-Ling packed for me…" Hana sat down and popped open the box, revealing some delicious-looking bulgogi onigirazu (Mei always tried to give everyone something that reminded them of home), some Chinese candies, and, much to Hana's glee, Doritos and Moutntain Dew.

"Yum!" Hana immediately ripped open her chips, which were one of the things she loved most about America, and popped one in her mouth. She grabbed her soda, warm from being in her mech all day. She didn't necessarily mind drinking her soda warm, but few things compared to an ice-cold Mountain Dew.

"Zut! Get in the ball, stupid lizard!" growled Widow.

Suddenly, an idea formed in Hana's mind.

"Widow, take off your glove," commanded Hana. Widowmaker did as she was told, focusing on her game. Hana handed her the bottle of soda. "Hold onto this for a few, okay?" Widow muttered under her breath, which Hana took to mean "Sure, of course".

Hana got to work on the rest of her lunch, pausing halfway through to send Mei a thank you text. When she was sure that Mei received her appreciation, she collected the bottle from Widow. The bottle was now perfectly chilled, thanks to Widowmaker's intensely lowered body temperature.

"This is nice," said Hana, sipping her drink. "I gotta get you one of those when we get back to the house. You're a lot easier to be around when throwing Pokeballs."

"Almost got it…"

"Eh… Shouldn't we be looking for the Deadlock gang? You've been playing that game for like twenty minutes."

"Hourra! I caught it!" Widowmaker looked up, an uncharacteristically cheerful smile on her face. "What now?"

"Well, you could name him if you want, but we really—"

"I will call him… Gérard."

"Seriously, Widow, we should really—"

"Ça alors! There are more of them?!"

"Widow!" Hana shouted, pulling out her Light Gun. She shot her phone out of Widow's hand, finally snatching the assassin's attention. "Mungchung-a!

"What?" Widowmaker looked up as if she was awoken from a deep slumber. "I want to catch more Poker-noms."

"They're moving out, babo!" snapped Hana, deciding to correct Widowmaker at another time. "Look!"

In the gorge that they sat above were a band of fifteen cowboy hat-wearing outlaws, escorting a large hover-truck of munitions including revolvers, shotguns, rifles, and a massive 5 megaton bomb.

"Cover me, I need sniper support!" Hana leapt up and jumped into her mech. After the quick start-up, she rocketed down to the ground and immediately began engaging the Deadlocks. Widow reached for her rifle, her hand pausing when she realized that Hana's discarded phone was to the right. She grabbed that instead.

"Oh, I like this one, too," she said to no one. "Slandshrew? Pah, these Americans and their silly names for things."

"Widow!" Hana's distressed shout almost shorted out the communicator. "My Defense Matrix is failing! I need support!"

"Hm? Oh, support." Widow flicked a Pokeball at the Sandshrew. "Good work, Song. Give those bandits the what-for."

Hana groaned, then pressed a few buttons in her cockpit.

"Babo…" She activated her Self-Destruct. "Hey, Deadlocks! Nerf this!"


	3. Generational Gap

Pharah didn't go out very often, but, when she did, she did it in style. Like tonight, she spent hours perfecting her outfit, including her makeup and jewelry. She wore a golden, silk top that stopped just above her bellybutton. On her lower half, she sported a similarly silk skirt, with a belt of colorful beads resting on her hip. As she walked, you could see her tall gladiator sandals as her skirt swished to and fro.

Pharah finished applying her eyeliner, then slipped on her earrings. When she was satisfied with her look, she grabbed her purse and set out of her room. Her room was on the third floor, the topmost floor, so she usually just jumped out of her window and float down with her suit. In her dress, however, she preferred the stairs.

As it was late, she tried to be discreet. Although she tried to keep it quiet, it was useless. The person in the living room would notice her no matter what. She was sipping tea and reading by the faint lamplight, as she often did.

"Good evening, Fareeha," said Ana, not looking up from her book. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

"I could ask you the same," said Pharah evasively. "I would have thought you would have turned in by now."

"Pah. I'll sleep when I'm dead." She closed her book. "Do not dodge my questions, little one."

"I'm not your 'little one' anymore, mother," said Pharah. Ana raised her eyebrow, piercing Pharah's tough armor with her one good eye. "If you truly must know, I was invited to Lucio's album party. I don't normally go to parties, but he made me promise him I'd have more fun." Ana clicked her tongue, setting her book down.

"Who else will be attending this little party?" asked Ana. Not quite believing that this was happening, Pharah crossed her arms over her chest.

"Mother, it's a club. Lucio has five and a half million followers on Twitter. Who's to say how many people are going to show up? I know for sure that Hana is there, and I think Lena said she would go. Why?"

"Will there be alcohol?"

"Erm… Yes? Of course," said Pharah. "But I don't drink very much at all. You know that. At most, a glass of wine."

"And boys?" asked Ana.

"Mother! I'm not some sixteen year-old schoolgirl!" Pharah took a step for the door, stopping in her tracks to avoid being hit by Ana's quickly-aimed sniper shot.

"Do not walk away from your mother when she is speaking to you," said Ana, setting down her rifle. "It is rude."

"Fine. If you want to talk, we'll talk." Pharah turned to face her mother. "Hello, Ana, I'm going to a party, and I will see you in the morning. Any questions?"

Ana glared at her daughter for a moment before blind-firing her rifle, hitting Pharah directly in the ankle.

"Do not disrespect me, child," said Ana, wagging her finger disapprovingly. She hardly heard herself over Pharah's stream of profanity. "Watch your mouth or you will get another shot."

"I don't think you understand how truly painful those are," said Pharah through gritted teeth, ripping out the syringe from her leg. " _That_ was uncalled for."

"Go back to bed, little one. We have work tomorrow," said Ana. She picked up her book and returned to reading.

"What? No we don't. Your age must be getting to you. Our mission isn't until Tuesday."

"Every day is a mission for an agent of Overwatch. If you cannot be responsible and prepared for any conceivable scenario, then you do not deserve to be a part of this organization."

That really got under Pharah's skin. Who the hell was Ana to tell her about responsibility when she left both Overwatch and her daughter high and dry for decades? Besides, Pharah worked just as hard as any member of the team to get her spot. She had cleared this excursion with 76 earlier in the week, so she should have been fine to have her first night off in about a year. Yet, as usual since she returned, Ana stood in her way.

"I'm going, and you can't stop me!" shouted Pharah.

"I can and I will," said Ana calmly. "Back to bed, child. We have training in the morning."

"I am no child! You will learn this one way or another." Ana sighed, then stood up.

"I don't think you understand, Fareeha." Ana picked up her rifle and slung it over her shoulder. "I am your mother. As long as you live under my roof, you will obey me. You will not attend this party. I forbid it."

"This is not your house! Captain Morrison built it from the ground up!" Few people could get anger Pharah as quickly or intensely as her mother could. Even though Pharah knew that Ana was trying her best after her absence, and that she truly did care for her, it didn't stop her from resenting Ana's attempts to protect her.

"What's all this then?"

Pharah and Ana turned to the right to see that their argument had attracted a spectator. Mercy stood in the doorway, clutching her robe in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

"Oh. Hello, Angela," said Pharah. "We didn't mean to disturb you."

"You say 'we', yet only you raised your voice," remarked Ana. Pharah furrowed her brow, but decided to say nothing to her mother just yet.

"Angela, would you please talk some sense into this woman?" grumbled Pharah. "She's trying to stop me from going to a party with my friends! I'm a grown woman, am I not? I should be able to make my own decisions."

"Don't try to use Angela to get what you want. She knows that one should respect their parents at all times."

"Why must you two always fight?" asked Mercy with a sigh. "I've tried everything with you two, but you're both far too stubborn. So, if you want to fight anyway, you may as well use it to solve your problem." She yawned into her palm, then turned back to her bedroom. "Fareeha, suit up. I will be back in a few moments."

Pharah swiftly ran upstairs, leaving Ana alone in the living room. She sat down to finish her tea and make a bit more progress on her book. A short moment later, she was joined by Mercy, equipped with her Caduceus Staff, and Pharah, who was decked out in her armor and rocket launcher.

"So, the rules are simple," explained Mercy. "You two will fight until one of you is no longer able to do so. If Fareeha wins, she will be allowed to go to the party without any further resistance. If Ana wins—"

"You may only attend the party, and any subsequent parties, with a chaperone," said Ana suddenly. "That chaperone being me."

"What?!" Pharah's jaw hit the floor. "I'm a grown woman, I don't need a chaperone!"

"Then beat me, little one."

"Gladly and easily," said Pharah, preparing her Jump Jet. "I am sick of how you treat me. You'll regret not taking me serious when I blow you all the way back to Giza!"

"They can do the least who boast the loudest," said Ana, drawing her rifle. "Put your money where your mouth is, little one."

"Actually, now that I think about it," said Mercy. "This was probably a bad idea."

"Start the match, Angela!" said Pharah.

"Er… Well. Start?"

Pharah thrusted into the air, immediately avoiding the first of Ana's shots. She pelted rockets at the ground, just barely missing both Ana and Mercy with explosives.

"I probably should've had you do this outside," noted Mercy, blessed with the gift of hindsight. She used Guardian Angel to zip up to Pharah and slowly descend to safety. On her way down, she checked Pharah's vitals: She hadn't taken a hit yet, but her blood pressure was through the roof.

"How much longer should I allow you to play, little one?" asked Ana, mockingly. She aimed as carefully as she could given the chaos of the ground around her and managed to stick a shot in Pharah's leg. Somehow, Pharah _still_ felt it through her armor.

"Ana…" Mercy warned. "Don't anger her too much. I already shudder at the thought of what Jack will do when he sees his living room."

"Don't blame me." Ana jumped to the left, narrowly avoiding a rocket. "It's this one. She's undisciplined! Sloppy! Unfit to be a part of Overwatch!"

"How dare you—"

"No, Fareeha, how dare _you_! You talk of justice, but don't know the first thing about it!" shouted Ana, barely holding back a smirk. "You know not what justice really represents! You know not what justice means! You don't even know where justice comes from!"

Phara growled, then prepared her weapons.

"Oh, I'll tell you where justice comes from!" she snarled. She activated her Barrage. "Justice rains from above!"

Ana grinned, then immediately rolled out of the way of the oncoming salvo of rockets. Pharah had taken the bait, and fallen right into her mother's trap. Unable to move while blasting the ground with missiles, she was an easy target for Ana's Sleep Dart.

"Nāmá," said Ana, watching as her daughter tried, and failed, to fight sleep. When her rockets ran out, Pharah could fight it no longer, and fell into Mercy's arms. "Oh, little one. You look like you could use a nap."

* * *

"Yo, Pharah. You okay?"

"Ugh… Lucio?" Pharah sat up, clutching her head in pain. "Where am I?"

"The club. Yo, you okay? I didn't even see you come in." Slowly, Pharah opened her eyes, and the interior of the club bled into view. Mainly, she saw Lucio's concerned face and heard the loud music of the club.

"No, I'm fine." Pharah shook her head firmly. "Er… How did I get here?"

"Damn, girl. When I said to have a little bit more fun, I didn't mean to get wasted before you even get to the club," laughed Lucio. "Still, it's efficient."

"Wait… I'm remembering it, a little… Oh, damn it all." Pharah buried her face in her palm. "Ana knocked me out and brought me here."

"Which is the reason I came looking for you. You gotta get your mom," said Lucio. "She drank, like, a lot, and now she won't stop hitting on the bouncers."

"This is exactly why I wanted to go alone," sighed Pharah. She got up and began her search for Ana. "Mom! Keep it in your pants!"


	4. Shogi

"I believe that is the game, Brother," said Genji, swiping up his brother's king and replacing it with his own promoted rook. Hanzo leaned forward, examining the board in an attempt to find something wrong. When he concluded that Genji hadn't actually cheated, Hanzo fell back onto his cushion, slamming his fist down angrily.

"Bakana!" exclaimed Hanzo. "When did you get good at shogi?"

"While in Nepal, I taught the game to the Shambali," explained Genji. "They learned the game quickly and soon became formidable opponents. Besides, you are out of practice. When was the last time you played?"

"Before our fight," admitted Hanzo. "Still, you could never beat me when we were children. What has changed?"

"You have grown lazy, and I have improved since we last played." Genji began to reset the board. "What's more, you have underestimated me. I imagine our next game would go more in your favor."

"Perhaps…" Hanzo made the first move, moving his pawn. "So. How are you getting along with our housemates?"

"Hm? Well, I knew many from my time in Overwatch," said Genji. "Captain Morrison, Lena, Winston. Angela, obviously. And, of course, Master Zenyatta helps me to overcome any struggles."

"That is good. Personally, I find these housemates to be quite troublesome," complained Hanzo. "Most are loud, immature, and foolish." He considered it for a moment. "I like Amelie, though. We have contests of marksmanship."

"Widow is nice enough, once you get to know her," said Genji with a shrug. He made his move. "Most of our teammates are quite nice, I find. Except perhaps Alexsandra."

"Ah. The Russian. I take it she dislikes you?"

"I do not know if it is dislike. More like mistrust." He spent half of his mind planning his next move, while the other half focused on his conversation. "I understand it, though. With what's happening in Russia right now, it would be unusual for her to trust anything machine. She will learn soon enough, that man and machine can coexist."

"Hm. I am unsure how true that is, Brother," said Hanzo. "Though you are not omnic, you resemble one closely enough that those blinded by rage and prejudice will mistake you for one. With the second Crisis, coexisting may not be possible." He glanced up from the board, instinctively attempting to read his brother's expression. Shame filled him when he saw the metallic mask Genji was forced to wear. "Can man truly live alongside machine?"

"Of course, Brother," said Genji, sliding off one of Hanzo's pieces and replacing it with his own. Though Hanzo couldn't see his brother's face, he could tell by his tone that Genji was smiling. "I am living proof. And that, Hanzo, is the game."

Hanzo looked down at the board incredulously. Just as Genji had said, the game was over. Genji held up the piece he had taken, revealing it to be Hanzo's king. The Shimada brothers shared a look for a moment before Hanzo slammed his palms onto the board.

"Now, I know you must be cheating!" shouted Hanzo. Genji chuckled, then went about resetting the board.

"No. Just practice," said Genji. "Would you like to go again?"

"Pah! Though I cannot prove it, I know you are cheating," grumbled Hanzo. "I will uncover your secrets!"

As Genji chuckled, the door slid open with an audible puff of air. The Shimada brothers turned to see what could be considered the two most unique members of the Overwatch House. The only two omnics among their ranks, it was perhaps natural that Zenyatta and Bastion (and, by extension, Bastion's bird friend Ganymede) gravitated towards one another.

"Greetings, Genji, Hanzo," said Zenyatta, bowing his head. "I hope you are enjoying this rare day of quiet serenity."

"Greetings, Master." Genji returned the bow, while Hanzo basically ignored him. "With Lena, Lucio, Jamison and Jesse out on missions, the house is much calmer than normal."

"Boop-Beop!" Bastion nodded in agreement, settling in a corner of the room to allow Ganymede to comfortably rest on his head.

"It is good to see you and your brother getting along," hummed Zenyatta. Hanzo grunted, then stood up from the table.

"We would be getting along better, if Genji would stop cheating!" shouted Hanzo. Again, Genji chuckled.

"Hanzo is just upset that he cannot defeat me in shogi," said Genji. "Perhaps you would have better luck?"

"Ah, though you may have taught the monks, the opportunity for me to play against you never presented itself." Zenyatta floated over to where Hanzo used to be sitting, then lowered himself down into the traditional Japanese seiza position. Hanzo himself sat to the right of of the board, watching intently. "I would be honored if we were able to compete, my student. Be warned, however. I have yet to be defeated."

"Oh? That sounds almost like arrogance, Master," said Genji with a smirk in his voice.

"I am simply stating facts, my student. If anyone could defeat me, I would believe it to be you." Zenyatta bowed to his opponent, then made his move. He was looking forward to the game. Though he had doubt that Genji could beat him, he was sure that the game would be tense, difficult, and long.

"And that is the game, Master," said Genji, swiping up his sensei's king after his sixth move. "Well met."

"Hm… I see," said Zenyatta with a nod. "Well met, Genji. You have managed to defeat me without losing a single piece." Zenyatta leaned to the side, looking past Genji. "Greetings, Zarya. What brings you here?"

Genji instinctively turned, preparing to diffuse the situation that would inevitably unfold between the omnics and the robot-hating Zarya. To Genji's immense surprise, there was no one there.

"Hm?" Genji was confused. "Master, there's no one-"

Zenyatta slipped his hands underneath the board and flipped it as hard as he could, sending shogi pieces everywhere.

"Whoops," said Zenyatta. "How clumsy of me."

"Master…" muttered Genji. With his ninja skills and reflexes, it was easy for him to near-instantly reset the board. "I'm pretty sure that being a sore loser is against the Shambali's teachings."

"And that is one of the reasons I made for a quite poor monk," said Zenyatta. Somehow, even when being a sore-loser, he managed to exude an air of wisdom.

"It's just a game…" said Genji.

"A game you never lose," remarked Hanzo. Genji shrugged.

"I do not know what is the issue," said Genji. "I do not even think I am that good."

"Beep-beep-beop!" Bastion stood up, slowly clanking over to the shogi board.

"You want to play?" asked Zenyatta. Bastion gave an affirmative beep. "Are you certain that is wise, my friend?"

"Who taught the robot to play shogi?" asked Hanzo. Bastion beeped three times in rapid succession, then let out a single, longer beep.

"He says that Ganymede taught him," said Zenyatta. "Though, how the songbird leaned shogi is likely another story."

"Very well, Bastion," said Genji. "I accept all challengers! Make the first move."

Bastion did so, moving a pawn forward. Genji followed suit, attempting to strategize how best to defeat his companion. He decided to let the game drag on a bit, so as to not discourage Bastion too much.

"Beep-boep," hummed Bastion, swiping up Genji's king on the sixth move.

"He says 'that's the game'," translated Zenyatta.

Genji remained motionless, unable to believe it.

"Now you know how I feel," muttered Hanzo.

"Bakana… Impossible…" whispered Genji. "How…?"

"Be-yop," beeped Bastion. Zenyatta snickered.

"I am unsure if this translates properly," said Zenyatta. "But I believe that he says 'get rekt, scrub'. Is that correct?" Bastion nodded. "I think that Bastion and Hana may have been spending some time together."

Slowly, Genji stood up.

"Brother, Master Zenyatta, get back," said Genji darkly. "And you, my omnic friend, I have but one word of advice for you." Genji grabbed his sword, feeling the energy of the Dragon surge through him. "Run."

"Beep-bepbep!" Bastion stood up and booked it for the door as quickly as he could. Genji ripped his sword from his sheath and began pursuit.

"Ryūjin no ken o kurae!"


	5. Love Your Healer

"Tracer!" shouted Mercy, trying her best to keep up with Tracer while simultaneously avoiding the several hundred shots that the incoming omnic horde were firing. "Get to cover so I can heal you!"

"Whoops!" Tracer Blinked behind a large chunk of debris, just tall enough to completely obscure her from the enemy. "Sorry, Mercy!"

"You'll be sorry when you take a bullet to the ankle," muttered Mercy. She zipped over to Tracer and fired a healing stream from her Caduceus Staff. Within seconds, Tracer was back at full health. As soon as she was, she recklessly zoomed back into the fray.

"Mercy, requesting assistance!" called DVa. Mercy rolled her eyes, then zoomed as quickly as she could from the safe confines of her cover. She booted up her Staff with another charge of Healing, just barely keeping Hana's MEKA from exploding.

"Careful, DVa!" warned Mercy. "If you have to eject, I'm not sure you'll survive in this battlefield."

"C'mon, Mercy, I'm tougher than I look," said DVa with a smirk. "Hey, mind boosting my damage?"

Mercy shook her head, then switched streams on her Caduceus Staff to damage boost, at which point DVa maniacally laughed and began firing wildly into the approaching horde of robots. Mercy had to hop, duck, shimmy, and slide in order to avoid the hail of gunfire coming from the omnics that DVa didn't destroy.

"A bit of help, please!" begged Mercy.

"Huh? Oh, Angela, you should get outta here," said DVa. She activated her boosters, then zipped forward into the crowd of bots before hitting her Self-Destruct button. "Nerf this!"

"Hana, no!" Mercy looked around in terror, trying to find someplace safe to hide from the blast.

"Quick, over here!" called DVa, curling up behind some chunk of debris. Mercy quickly activated Guardian Angel to swiftly fly to safety.

Tracer blinked directly into her path, smashing into the medic and tangling their bodies together as they hit the ground.

"Tracer!" snapped Mercy.

"Whoops! Sorry, Mercy!" Tracer didn't say any more before Recalling back as far as she could, which would put her a safe distance away from DVa's exploding MEKA.

Mercy didn't have the same luxury, and was caught in the massive explosion.

* * *

"You have ten seconds before I start shouting," said 76, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "You have that long to explain to me how Angela ended up almost dying on what should have been a simple mission. Your time starts now."

As soon as they arrived back home, 76 sat the two girls down in the briefing room while Mercy was essentially put back together by Zenyatta and Ana. The whole time, Lena and Hana sat staring at the ground in shame. Not only did they get their good friend hurt, but 76 was going to chew them out for it. Jack Morrison was well known for his combat prowess, but he was legendary for his lectures.

"We're really sorry, Pops," said Tracer. "We didn't mean it, honest."

"Yeah, Gramps, it was a total accident," said Hana. "We got a little too excited and I guess that made us careless. We feel really bad about what happened."

"Super bad."

"Mega bad."

"Hyper bad."

"There's not enough words that mean 'really' for how bad we feel," said Hana. "Like, for realsies, we feel totally sucky."

"We'll do anything to make it up to her," said Lena.

"Anything?"

All heads turned to the door and the source of the voice. Though Angela Ziegler was alive, she was in a bad way; She wore a neck brace and several bruises, walked with a limp, and seemed to be using her Caduceus Staff to keep herself upright.

"Oh my god, Angela," gasped Tracer. "Are you alright?"

"I'll live. Probably." Mercy coughed, clutching her neck gingerly. "But what you were saying a second ago. You would do anything to make it up to me?"

"Anything at all!"

"Well, I shouldn't be on my feet for a few days." Mercy coughed weakly. "Perhaps even a week or two. I need you two to carry my weight."

"Huh?" asked Hana. "What do you mean?"

"You two should take my place. Overwatch cannot afford to go for very long with a Healer missing. You two must take my staff and do my work for me."

"Uh… I don't know, Angela. I'm a Tank, I don't know anything about healing," said Hana. "And Lena is DPS, she's your exact opposite."

"But, as Hana was going to say, we'll give it all we've got!" promised Lena.

"Lena, what're you—"

"Go ahead and rest, Angie, we've got everything under control!"

"Thank you, dear. It means a lot to me," said Mercy. She offered her staff to the two girls. "Here, you will need this."

Lena gently took the Caduceus Staff in her hands, feeling a strange current run through her. It was like the warm, fuzzy feeling of a healing stream crossed with the chilling adrenaline of a damage boost. Simply put, it made Tracer feel powerful.

"Normally, the Caduceus Staff can only be fired by me. But, for you two, I've altered it to accept your DNA as well," said Mercy, somehow still standing despite giving up the staff. "While I am away, you two will be the only ones to use it. Furthermore, Lucio, Ana, and Zenyatta are on extended missions to the moon, to look after the scientists at the Horizon colony." She let her words hang in the air for a bit. "You two will be the only healers in the OverHouse."

"W-wow," said Lena. "That's a lot of responsibility…" Then, she remembered her promise and shook her head firmly. "But we'll handle it! Get better, Angela, me and Hana have things well in hand. Let's go, mate. We've got a team to heal." Tracer grabbed Hana's hand and all but dragged her out of the office.

Somehow, during the whole ordeal, Tracer and DVa had managed to ignore Mercy's mischievous smirk.

"Alright, Angela," sighed 76. "You can heal yourself, and the other healers will be back tomorrow from Ilios. So what was that crap you just shovelled?"

"It has been far too long since my last vacation," said Mercy, pulling off her neck brace. "What's more, I think those two have taken their healing for granted. So I thought I'd teach them a little lesson in protecting their healers."

"That's… unlike you."

"You can only get blown up about four times before it stops being fun."

"Fair enough. I was just going to make them drop and give me a hundred," said 76, scratching the back of his head. "But this… Much funnier."

"Ja, I thought you'd say so." Mercy grinned, uncharacteristically mischievous. "So, I'll see you in a few days. I have to go pack."

"You sure they'll be able to pick up your weight?"

"Well, a few of you can heal yourselves, and I'll only be gone for a week, at most," said Mercy. "I'm sure they'll do just fine."

"Hm. Well, I've got my Biotic Field, so…" 76 shrugged. "Have fun, I guess. See you when you get back."

"Auf wiedersehen, Jack. See you soon."

* * *

Mercy fumbled with her keys, eventually sliding her key into the lock and twisting. She lifted her suitcases and stepped into the house. Her vacation was over and, though she enjoyed quietly relaxing very much, it was good to be home. She couldn't wait to see her friends, who were practically family, after her five day absence. After living in the OverHouse for so long, it was strange to go a day without having to heal someone who had been burned or blown up.

As Mercy neared the living room, she began to smell smoke. That was concerning, to say the least, and Mercy picked up her pace. She followed the smell, which took her upstairs and to Tracer's room. Mercy set her suitcases down, and pushed open the door.

Tracer and DVa lay, covered in soot and ash, on Tracer's bed. Mercy did a quick overview of the two girls and surmised that they both had small fractures along their arms and legs, perhaps even even a cracked rib or two. Tracer's hair was also slightly on fire, though that seemed to be a recent development. Laying on the floor, almost forgotten, was the Caduceus Staff. Mercy smiled, then grabbed her tool from the floor.

"Angela? Is that you?" coughed Tracer.

"Ja, my dear," said Mercy. "I'm here. Are you alright?"

"We don't give you enough credit," wheezed DVa. "Your job is harder than I thought. We barely made it out alive."

"As long as your team is healthy, you've done your job well," said Mercy. She turned her staff to healing stream and fired at the girls.

"So scary… Sometimes, my team would disappear and leave me alone with no way to defend myself," said Tracer. "Just poof! Gone!"

"Mh-hm. That happens sometimes," hummed Mercy.

"And the heal requests," groaned DVa. "I was busy healing, or getting to the point, and people were screaming for health. What did they want me to do?"

"More than is possible," said Mercy gently. "Let that be a lesson to you two. Protect your healers. Respect your healers. Love your healers."


	6. Veintitres

Sometimes, normally when she had a mission in the morning, Tracer had problems sleeping. She wasn't sure whether to blame that on the Chronal Accelerator she wore or her generally excited personality, but she was often walking through the halls of the OverHouse towards the kitchen while the rest of the House slept.

Tracer groggily rounded the corner into the kitchen, then hopped onto the counter to find her favorite teacup. Once she located it, she started up the kettle, dropped her teabags in, then turned for the fridge to get her cream.

A young woman in purple pajamas stood in the open fridge, digging through it in search of something. Her hair was half-shaven and parted to the right side of her head. The left side appeared to have some kind of wires or cords going from her skull to her back.

"Oi, pass the milk," yawned Tracer. The mystery woman handed Tracer a jug of milk, then returned to her digging. "Thanks, mate." Tracer took a few steps for her tea, then paused.

She rushed back over to the fridge, where the mystery woman was emerging with a plastic container labeled "REAPER". She locked eyes with Tracer, who seemed completely stunned.

"Hola," she said. Tracer snapped back to reality, let out a surprised shriek, then Blinked for the door. The mystery woman tapped the air, purple hexagons forming under her fingers and sending streams of light at Tracer, who paused in mid-Blink.

"Huh?" Tracer tried to Blink again, to little success.

"Your kettle is ready, mija," said the woman. "It's dangerous to leave the stove on."

"POPS!" shouted Tracer. "WE'VE GOT AN INTRUDER!"

Somewhere upstairs, a door was kicked down, and the sound of heavy, running footsteps could be heard. In seconds, 76 was in the kitchen, adjusting his Tactical Visor and brandishing his Heavy Pulse Rifle.

"Hands where I can see em!" he shouted. The mystery woman didn't seem to notice, too busy digging through the drawers for a fork.

"Hola, Abuelo," said the woman. She found her fork, then hopped up on the counter and slid her food in the microwave. She tapped her fingers through the air, much like she did to Tracer, and the microwave started on its own.

"Don't move!" 76 yelled.

"Ay, calm down, Abuelo. You'll wake the rest of the house," said the woman. "Calm down, I don't want any trouble. I'm just hungry, you know?"

"Who are you?" asked Tracer. The woman shrugged, then grabbed her food from the microwave.

"Isn't that what everyone wants to know?" she asked with a wink, raising a fork full of black beans and rice to her purple-painted lips.

"Put down the damn container!" 76 squeezed the trigger halfway. "I _will_ shoot!"

"Go ahead, Abuelo," said the woman with a smirk. "It won't bother me any."

Before Tracer could warn him, 76 raised his gun up and fired. The woman dodged to the right, then waved her hand through the air. As she did, she glowed faintly in purple light and vanished from view.

"What the…" Tracer looked around, unable to find her. "Pops, watch out. This one's dangerous."

"So am I," said 76 simply.

"She stopped me Blinking," said Tracer. "I tried to fall back and grab my weapons, but she stopped me mid-Blink. Plus, she can go invisible. How can you beat that?"

"I don't need to see her to know she's there." 76 activated his Visor. "I've got you in my sights!" 76's gun auto-locked to empty space and was just about to fire when five little beams of light cut through the air and connected with his Visor, shutting it off.

"What the hell?" 76 tapped his Visor in a futile attempt to reactivate it.

"Honestly, Abuelo, you're going to have to do better than that." The woman reappeared on the counter, chewing idly on her fork. "Ay, where do you keep the hot sauce? Papi don't season his food worth jack."

A cloud of thick black smoke poured into the room, swirling around the kitchen and condensing next to 76. The smoke began to take form, eventually taking form of the tall, brooding, cloaked Reaper.

"Who the hell is eating my leftovers?!" he snarled. "I'll kill you!" Reaper ripped his shotguns from his coat and aimed them at the source of his smell, then lowered them when he saw who the culprit was. "Oh. You."

"Hola, Papi," said the woman, waving. "What has you up so late?"

"I smelled my rice and beans… How many times must I explain to you? Death comes to those who touch my food."

"Hold it, Reyes," said 76. "You know this girl?"

"Unfortunately," growled Reaper. "Her name is Sombra."

"What is she doing here?" asked Tracer.

"Uh, I live here, mija," said Sombra, having at some point located the hot sauce and doused her rice with it.

"Like hell you do," said 76. "I've never even heard of you."

"That don't change the fact that I live here."

"Since when?"

"Let's see, today's Thursday, so…" Sombra counted on her fingers. "Six months? Yeah, six months."

"Six months! How have you been here for six months without anyone knowing?" demanded 76.

"I haven't been," said Sombra. "Papi knew I was here. Hermana, too."

"Hermana?" asked Tracer.

"It means 'sister'," said Reaper. "And she means Widow."

"Aww, that's kinda sweet, actually."

"Shut up, Oxton."

"You knew she was here?" asked 76. "Why wasn't I informed?"

"We assumed it was common knowledge. Lacroix and I came to live here, so it only makes sense that Sombra would follow."

"Yeah, you guys sorta left me unemployed, so I was pretty much out of options," said Sombra. She tossed her container, now completely empty, into the sink. "Ay dios mio, Papi, we really need to teach you to cook. I didn't know you could mess up rice and beans."

"If it was so terrible, why did you eat the whole thing?" growled Reaper.

"I had to make sure the whole thing was terrible, duh."

Reaper dropped his shotguns and clenched his fists hard enough to crush stone.

"Dios dame paciencia porque si me das fuerza los mato…"

Both Tracer and 76 turned away from Sombra to focus on Reaper.

"Was that Spanish?" asked Tracer.

"He does that sometimes," said 76. "When he gets flustered or angry. Haven't heard him speak Spanish like that since—"

"Morrison!"

"Ana dumped him."

Silence reigned over the kitchen. Reaper began to fume angrily, more so than he normally did, and Tracer was trying her hardest not to laugh. Meanwhile, Sombra was tapping away and hacking something that only she could see.

"The three of us vowed to never speak of that," said Reaper flatly.

"We also agreed to use our abilities for the good of mankind, and to never shoot our friends in the back. We see how that worked."

"Got it!" Sombra made a little box with her thumbs and index fingers, then spread it wide. An image bloomed in the space between her fingers, an image of a young Gabriel Reyes smirking happily as a young Ana Amari kissed him on the cheek.

"Delete it," ordered Reaper.

"Wow, Papi, you were quite the looker, weren't you?" giggled Sombra. "If you were maybe thirty years younger, I'd let you take me out for dinner."

"Now, Sombra," snarled Reaper.

"You two were so cute together," snickered Tracer. "Why'd she dump ya?"

"It was mutual. Work got in the way."

"I bet Ana would love to see that picture again," said 76. "Sombra, can you send me a copy?"

"I'll do you one better, Abuelo," said Sombra. She tapped at nothing, and several beams of light flew throughout the house. "There. Just sent it to everyone in the House."

"Sombra, I can make your life a living hell," snarled Reaper. "Delete it now, before I make you regret showing yourself."

"Sorry, Papi. Once something is on the internet, not even I can get rid of it."

"I'm telling them about Hermilio," hissed Reaper. Sombra gasped, her face blushing bright red.

"Don't you dare, Papi!"

"Who's Hermilio?" asked Tracer.

"I swear to God, Papi, don't talk about Hermilio!"

"Sombra couldn't find a boyfriend, so she made a 'love bot' called Hermilio," said Reaper. "And one time, when we were getting ready for a mission, I caught her and Hermilio having-"

"Okay, fine, I'll delete it!" Sombra tapped her fingers and grabbed at nothing, the old photo appearing in her hand. She tore it to shreds, the fragments bursting into purple pixels when they hit the ground.

"Good," said Reaper. He turned to smoke and floated out of the kitchen. "Don't touch my leftovers…"

"Ay dios mio, Papi, that's not fair," grumbled Sombra. "Alright, Abuelo, mija. I'm tired. Buenos noches."

"Hey, would you mind cooking dinner tomorrow?" asked 76. "Mercy is busy."

"Si. I have a great enchilada recipe. Maybe Papi will learn from me how to make real food," said Sombra. She waved her hand through the air and vanished in purple light. Tracer looked to 76, who was pulling off his Visor and heading for the door.

"Is that all?" asked Tracer. "You're just gonna let her stay?"

"I don't listen to Fawkes very often, but there's something he says that I like a lot," said 76. "He says 'The OverHouse is nothing but a band of misfits and freaks. I love it'. And we are, Lena. We're freaks. So, I say we accept our own, let them in when they have nowhere to go. If we turned away people like Sombra, McCree wouldn't be here. Reyes wouldn't be here. Hell, I wouldn't be here. Something I've learned from my time in the service with Gabe, before he became what he is now, is that the world is a harsh, cruel place that punishes the weak and the innocent. It's easy to not care, and we have to be stronger than that. Accept those who are out of options."

"W-wow…" Tracer was stunned. 76 wasn't normally this sentimental. She wondered if it was due to his age.

"Plus, enchiladas sound really good right about now," added 76, after a moment of thought. "So that has something to do with it."


	7. Mẹrin-le-logun

"Sombra, how long to EMP?!" shouted 76, ducking behind the payload, bullets whizzing over his head. "I need these bots fried!"

"¡Hijo de puta!" yelled Sombra, suddenly appearing next to 76. "Sorry, Abuelo, there's not a whole lot I can do. They're not responding to my hacks. These damn omnics are getting smarter. Their firewalls are too good…"

"Damn! Where are the others?" 76 popped up from cover just long enough to blind fire a few rounds at the oncoming hordes of omnics.

A small army of sentry bots marched their way up the streets of Numbani, peppering Sombra and 76 with shots. It seemed like, no matter how many the two scrapped, there were still more. They approached the payload relentlessly, determined to retrieve what it contained: the Gauntlet of the legendary Doomfist.

"The teleporter is being hacked. Not my work. Satya is working on it," said Sombra. "Don't know if they'll make it in time…"

"No time to just wait for them," said 76. "Sombra, flank around and get their attention. I'm heading up and around to scrap as many as I can."

"I hope you know what you're doing, Abuelo," sighed Sombra. "Be right back." She waved her hand and vanished from view. After a few moments, shots flew from the rear of the crowd. The omnics about-faced to pacify this new threat, which gave 76 the opening he needed. He sprinted to the right, up the stairs, and into the top level of the cafe. He readied himself, then ran out of the side entrance.

"I've got you in my sights!" he shouted, activating his Tactical Visor. He fired wildly, his gun auto-aiming at the most dangerous targets first. Even with his Ultimate Ability, 76 knew that it was unlikely that he'd be able to defeat all of the omnics. When his Tactical Visor expired, he had destroyed half of the sentry bots, but nowhere near enough to consider the area safe.

"Halt!"

A green orb flew in from nowhere, sticking to the wall opposite of soldier. It burst, dragging every single omnic in range to the wall. Soldier fired off a Helix Rocket, all the while wondering where the orb had come from.

"Abuelo!" Sombra tossed her Translocator, appearing next to 76. "That yours?"

"No. But, if they're on our side, I don't give a damn who's it is."

"Citizens, this is a danger zone! Please remain behind the Protective Barrier at all times!" called a mechanical female voice. Before 76 could wonder what exactly was going on, a curving blue barrier fell in front of them, blocking the incoming shots.

"You sure this ain't us?" asked Sombra. "That looked like Alexsandra and Reinhardt to me."

"It's not them…" growled 76.

A large, four-legged bot leapt in front of them, glowing yellow and firing a large gun mounted on its wrist. On the omnic's back was a small girl with dark skin, wearing traditional a Numbanian gown and headress. She hopped off and ran behind the shield, shocked at what she saw.

"My word… These aren't civilians,Ori!" said the girl. "This is Overwatch!"

"Incredible!" said the omnic. "The odds of us meeting an Overwatch agent today of all days are astronomically low."

"So, am I an agent now?" asked Sombra. "Do I get a rank and badge?"

"Who are you?" asked 76. "And, more importantly, who's your friend?"

"I am Efi Oladele, friend, and that over there," she said, pointing to her omnic companion. "That is the protector of Numbani."

"The OR-15," noted Sombra. "I've been reading about you and your friend, mija. Incredible."

"Thank you, Miss, but she prefers the name 'Orisa'," said Efi. She glanced at her friend, who was easily dealing with the remaining omnics. "Now, Orisa is going to put down her Drum. When she does, fire at will."

"Her drum?" asked 76.

"Ori! Supercharger!" called Efi.

"Team up for a special attack!" said Orisa. She grabbed a device from her back, which 76 assumed to be a part of her, and slammed it to the ground. Beams of bright green light shot out at 76 and Sombra, bathing them in light and filling them with energy.

"That feels like Abuela's Nano Boost," said Sombra. "Are we sure she's not ours?"

"Shut up and shoot!" ordered 76, spraying down the horde of bots. Sombra shrugged, then joined in on the festivities. Between 76, Sombra, and Orisa, the attacking omnics didn't stand a chance. Within two minutes, the lot of them had been reduced to scrap.

"Good work, Ori!" said Efi, patting her friend on the back. "You were excellent out there!"

"Thank you for saying so, Ms. Oladele. I was a bit concerned, this being my first real mission," said Orisa. "Is everyone okay? Are there any injuries."

"We're fine. Better than fine, actually," said 76. He took off his Visor to see the little girl a little better. "I don't think I ever properly introduced myself. I'm Jack Morrison, commander of Overwatch."

"Of course! Your reputation precedes you!" said Efi. "It is truly an honour to meet you, Commander Morrison."

"Really, we should be the ones honored. You saved our skin back there."

"We're just doing what we think we is right. Keeping the people of Numbani safe. Isn't that right, Ori?"

"Your safety is my primary concern," chimed Orisa.

"Is that so? You wanna know what I think?"asked 76. "I think you two can be doing good in more than just Numbani. I think you two could be vital in keeping the whole world safe."

"What are you saying, Commander Morrison?" asked Efi, hardly daring to dream.

"It might be a bit unorthodox, given your age and all, but… Would you like to come live with us? Join Overwatch and keep the world safe?"

"Orisa, call Mama," said Efi, with a grin. "I need to ask her to help pack my things."

* * *

"So, Song, this is Efi Oladele and her friend Orisa," said 76. "She's the newest recruit to the House."

"It is nice to meet you, Ms. Song," said Efi. Orisa remained silent, staring past 76 and DVa.

"Aw, nice to meet you, too, Efi," said DVa brightly. "Is she going to be sharing a room with me?"

"Hope you don't mind," said 76. "I'm running out of places to put us all. I need to talk to Vatswana about expanding the house. So, in any case, this arrangement will probably be temporary."

"Oh, I don't mind. There's not too many free beds here," said DVa. "She either has to bunk with me or Amelie, and I am not letting Widow bully this nice little girl."

"Frankly, I'd be more concerned for Widow. Efi isn't your average 11 year-old." 76 checked his watch, shaking his head. "I gotta go. Sombra and Symmetra are trying to find a way to firewall the teleporters. You get settled in, Efi. I'll have something for you to do by morning."

"Thank you, Commander Morrison," said Efi. She climbed onto Orisa's back and the two sauntered into the room. "Thank you for allowing me to stay with you, Ms. Song."

"It's not trouble, really. Us youngsters have to stick together," said DVa. She noticed Orisa's blank stare. "Er… Is she okay?"

"Hm?" Efi leaned around to check on Orisa. She followed her gaze, laughing when she saw what it was Orisa was staring at. "Ah. I think Ori would like it if you introduced your friend there."

"Hm?" DVa followed Orisa's gaze, tracing her sight line all the way to her very own MEKA. "Oh, I see! You like my MEKA?"

"She's beautiful," said Orisa. She crossed the room, grabbing MEKA'S Fusion Cannon and shook it as if it were a hand. "Hello, Ms. MEKA. My name is Orisa. It's wonderful to meet you."

MEKA remained silent, though that didn't seem to deter Orisa in the slightest.

"It is okay if you are shy. I was at first, as well. With time, I'm sure we will become the best of friends."

"Ori," said Efi, stifling a giggle. "That's not-" DVa grabbed Efi's shoulder, shaking her head with a grin.

"Let her have this. With all the weird junk that goes on around here, she's going to need a friend," said DVa. "Speaking of friends, let's go introduce you to some of mine."

"Okay, Ms. Song,"said Efi. "Ori, I will be back. Stay out of trouble, okay?" Orisa didn't respond, too focused on holding MEKA'S "hand". Efi shook her head, believing that the strangeness DVa had referenced had only just begun.

The two set out of the room to introduce the rest of the OverHouse to its newest member.


	8. Fareeha and Uncle Gabe

_Twenty years ago_

Fareeha Amari could barely keep up with her mother's brisk pace, but she knew asking Ana to slow down would be pointless. As far as Fareeha was concerned, her mother didn't exist when within the walls of an Overwatch building. As soon as they entered the building, scanning their ID cards for verification, Ana had vanished. In her place was Captain Amari.

"Mother, do we really need to do all of this?" complained Fareeha. "I'm old enough to take care of myself! I I don't need a babysitter!"

"Hush, my child. An urgent mission has come up, and I need to be able to go between here and there quickly and easily, several times," explained Ana. "I am not leaving you home alone for a week."

"But Mother… Why do I have to stay with Mr. Reyes? I don't even know him…"

"Gabriel is one of the only people I trust to look after my most prized possession. And I'm sure you'll get along fine. Gabriel and I have been friends for years." Ana rounded a corner, then knocked rapidly on the door.

"It's open."

Ana pushed open the door, her daughter hot on her heels. They stepped into an office, where Gabriel Reyes sat at his computer, typing reports and doing what he found to be the worst part of the job.

"Hello, Gabriel," said Ana. "I cannot thank you enough for this. This is her. Fareeha, say hello."

"Hello, Mr. Reyes," mumbled Fareeha, almost inaudible. Gabriel stood up, looking the girl up and down.

"Well, she definitely didn't get your mouth," said Gabriel. "Not the way you run your trap. You sure this is your kid?"

Fareeha frowned, then kicked Gabriel firmly in the shin. Completely unprepared, Gabriel swore in pain, clutching his leg in agony.

"She may not have inherited my mouth," said Ana. "But she certainly inherited my temper. I've got to go. Take care of her, Gabriel. And Fareeha? Do try not to hurt him too much."

"No promises," said Gabriel and Fareeha in perfect unison. They glared at each other, which made Ana smile. She was sure that those two would get along just fine.

"I love you, Fareeha," said Ana, blowing her a kiss. "And Gabriel?"

"Hm?"

"If you hurt my daughter, I'll make you wish for the mercy of death by omnic."

"I get it, Christ!" Gabriel fell back onto his seat. "Hurry up and go, save Morrison's ass before I have to get up and do it."

Ana cast a nervous glance to her daughter. She didn't like leaving Fareeha with someone that made her uncomfortable, but there was nothing to do about it. There were few men on Earth that Ana would trust to look after her daughter, and Gabriel Reyes fell into that trusted few. She sighed, gave one last wave, then finally tore herself away.

Fareeha and Gabriel stared each other down, neither wanting to speak first.

"So…" said Gabriel, finally breaking the silence. "You… Do you want, like, a coloring book or something?"

"I'm twelve years old," said Fareeha.

"Shit, really? All you kids look the same to me."

"Mother says a man should never swear in front of a woman."

"That's rich, coming from Ana. She cusses more than me,"said Gabriel. He felt a buzz, then touched the communicator in his ear. "Go for Reyes. Mh-hm. The hell?! Tell him… Damn it, I know. Copy that. I'm on my way, over."

Gabriel growled, then reached under his desk and grabbed his two black shotguns. He strapped them to his waist, then grabbed his hat and slipped it onto his head.

"C'mon, kid. I gotta deal with this," grumbled Gabriel.

"What is it?" asked Fareeha.

"A pest…"

* * *

Gabriel and Fareeha stepped into the firing range, and area designed for the agents of Overwatch to hone their skills. It was normally occupied by many soldiers and fighters perfecting their range on the stationary targets and mobile training bots.

Today, it was empty, save for a young boy sitting in the corner, tossing a grenade from hand to hand. The brim of his hat covered his eyes, but didn't obscure the plume of smoke coming from the cigarette in his mouth.

"McCree! What the hell do you think you're doing?" demanded Gabriel.

"Trainin' mah arm, sir," yawned McCree. As if to prove it, he chucked his grenade past Gabriel and Fareeha. It landed some ways away before exploding. Fareeha let out a frightened squeak, which made McCree sit up a little straighter. He adjusted his hat to see better.

"Who you?" he asked.

"My name is Fareeha," said Fareeha.

"What's that, Nigerian? Y'all better run off, lil miss. That fella y'all came here with eats lil' girls like you. Gobbles em whole!"

Gabriel faded into dark purple light, reappearing a few feet from McCree.

"He eats more than that, boy. Stop blowing shit up before I make you regret it," he growled. McCree took a deep draw on his cigarette, then blew a large cloud of smoke into Gabriel's face.

"Yeah, yeah, sure thing."

Gabriel grabbed McCree by the collar and tossed him halfway across the room. He grabbed the boy's hat and crushed it in his right hand

"Drop and give me twenty!" shouted Gabriel.

"Aw, c'mon, Gabe, I was just—"

"Fifty! Give me fifty or I burn the hat!"

"1! 2! 3! 4!" McCree quickly dropped down for his push-ups, staring at the girl just a few feet to his left. Fareeha looked at him, shaking her head.

"Somthin' funny, sweetheart?" huffed McCree.

"You do those push-ups like a girl," said Fareeha. Despite the serious demeanor he was trying to put out, Gabriel couldn't help but laugh.

"You think you can do better?" scoffed McCree. Fareeha shrugged, then immediately dropped down into position. With form and technique the likes of which Gabriel hadn't seen in the most promising of his soldiers, the small girl quickly pumped out fifty push-ups. As if to prove a point, she did another fifty before popping back to her feet and dusting off her skirt.

"Well I'll be…" said McCree. "Y'all tryin' to replace me with a little girl now?"

"Hell, I _wish_ Amari would let me replace you with her," scoffed Gabriel. "But Ana doesn't want her daughter to join Overwatch. For some reason."

"Hold on just a second! Yer Mrs. Ana's girl?"

"Mh-hm," said Fareeha. McCree, smacked his forehead with his metal arm in shock. "What happened to your arm?"

"He spoke when he shouldn't have," said Gabriel. "Get up, Jesse. We're going to take Amari Jr. to the firing range. I wanna see what else she's better than you at."

"I don't think mom would be happy with that," said Fareeha.

"A wise man once bestowed this sage piece of wisdom unto me," said Gabriel with a grin. "And that piece of wisdom is 'Mom's not here'."

* * *

"Are you certain this is safe?" asked Fareeha, holding a rather large shotgun. Gabriel snatched it from her, then returned it to her grasp, adjusting her grip and aim.

"You'll be fine. When I was twelve, I was already firing off .50 cals and pulse rifles in active combat," said Gabriel. "You can handle a 12 gauge."

"Why ain't nobody tell me that Mrs. Amari's kid was coming?" asked McCree, tossing one of his grenade from hand to hand.

"Maybe if you came to briefings instead of _blowing shit up_ you would've known. Amari. Fire."

"If you say so, Mr. Reyes," said Fareeha, pulling the trigger. The gun let out a resounding boom, sending Fareeha flying back from the recoil. She hit the ground, the gun clattering behind her.

"Ow…" groaned Fareeha, massaging her wrists. Gabriel nodded, as if he expected this, then grabbed the shotgun from the floor.

"Jesse, give me your gun," said Gabriel. Jesse clutched his revolver like it was his child.

"Like hell, man! I ain't lettin' nobody touch my Peacekeeper!" said Jesse.

"I said it before and I'll say it again." Gabriel snatched the gun out of Jesse's hand with very little resistance. "That's a stupid goddamn name." He passed the revolver to Fareeha. "Try this, kid."

Fareeha cautiously took the revolver and aimed it at the target. After letting Gabriel adjust her aim slightly, she pulled the trigger. Again, she stumbled back and dropped the gun, entirely missing what she was shooting at.

"Damn, girl," said Jesse. "Yer aim is shit."

"McCree, I swear to God, I'll-" Gabriel would've continued, were it not for the sudden call he received. He pressed his finger to his communicator, temporarily ignoring Jesse. "Go for Reyes. Uh-huh. Roger that." He headed for the door, leaving Jesse and Fareeha behind. "I'll be right back. Jesse, find her a gun, but _don't_ start firing until I get back. I repeat, _do not start firing until I get back_. Now say that back to me."

"Do not start firing until you get back," said Fareeha.

"Not you, kid. Him."

"Fine, fine, do not start firing 'til y'all get back," mumbled Jesse. "Now hurry up and get!"

"I mean it, Jesse. Don't start firing until I get back."

Gabriel gave McCree one last glare before slipping out of the room and rushing down the hall. Jesse went to the door and stuck out his head. When he was sure Gabriel was gone, he returned with a grin.

"I got just the thing for you, Fara," he said with a mischievous smirk.

* * *

Gabriel sighed, massaging his temples in annoyance. Based on his workload, one would assume that Gabriel was the head of Overwatch. But, as he would never be able to forget, that title belonged to Jack.

"I do all the work around here and Blondie gets all the glory," grumbled Gabriel. "He gets a goddamn statue erected in his honor, I get babysitting duty."

Gabriel continued to complain to nobody as he returned to the firing range. He really hoped Jesse hadn't done anything regrettable. That was one headache that Gabriel didn't need.

He opened the door to the firing range, his eyes wide and his scowl present. Jesse was standing beside Fareeha, helping her aim a massive rocket launcher before instructing her to fire. Fareeha managed to stand her ground as the rocket launched forward and collided with the target.

"JESSE MCCREE!" shouted Gabriel. Startled, Fareeha turned quickly, pointing her rocket directly at Gabriel. In her panic, she fired a rocket off, directly at her babysitter's chest.

The rocket bounced off of his chest harmlessly and clattered to the ground.

"Mr. Reyes!" Fareeha dropped the rocket to the ground and rushed to his side. "I'm so sorry! I didn't meant to… Jesse told told me to and…"

"Listen, kid, you didn't kill anyone this time, so just be careful in the future," said Gabriel. He picked up the dud rocket and tossed it to Fareeha, who caught it easily. "I won't tell if you don't."

"Deal." Fareeha tucked the rocket into her pocket for safekeeping. "You know something, Mr. Reyes? I like you more than I thought I would. I thought you'd be mean and boring."

"And?"

"Well, you're definitely not boring."

Gabriel chuckled, patting Fareeha on the back. Maybe babysitting was good enough. Maybe he didn't need the statue.

"You're not too bad yourself. And cool it with the Mr. Reyes shit, okay?" said Gabriel. "Gabe is fine. Uncle Gabe, if you want." He turned his attention to Jesse, giving him the coldest, evillest glare possible. "And what do I do with you?"

"You could do nuthin," suggested Jesse.

"But that would ruin my reputation," snarled Gabriel.

"I won't tell if you don't."

Gabriel glared at the ever-present thorn in his side that was Jesse McCree. He glanced to Fareeha, grinning slyly.

"Fareeha," said Gabriel. "Do you have anything to say to McCree?" Fareeha nodded, smiling while she did.

"Drop and give me fifty!"

* * *

 _The present day_

"What are we watching again?" asked Sombra, reclining on the couch lazily. Despite explicit orders not to, she still laid her head in Reaper's lap as she watched television with her two former Talon terrorists.

" _Gelé Par L'amour_ ," said Widowmaker flatly. "The most popular soap opera in France."

"It's terrible."

"You gave the remote, cherie. Change the channel."

"Hold on, I wanna see how it ends." Sombra latched onto every word, obsessed with knowing which man would when the heart of the beautiful Angelica.

"Someone is coming," noted Widowmaker. "Amari. The younger one."

"How can you tell?" asked Sombra.

"I can hear her footsteps."

"Or perhaps because she's standing in the doorway," growled Reaper. The other two looked up and, sure enough, Pharah was in the doorway waiting. "What do you want?"

"Amelie, Sombra, could I have a moment alone to talk to Gabriel?" asked Pharah. Widowmaker stood up and shrugged, not having any real reason to stick around. Sombra, on the other hand, refused to move.

"But Angelica is about to choose who she marries!" complained Sombra.

"I have a TV in my room," said Widow.

"Adios!" Sombra waved her hand through the air and vanished, no doubt reappearing at a Translocator she had stashed upstairs. Widowmaker had no such technology and decided to take the stairs.

"What do you want?" repeat Reaper.

"You don't remember what day it is today, do you?" asked Pharah. "That's okay. I didn't expect you to." She crossed the room and sat next to Reaper. "This is the day we met. Twenty years ago."

"Hm…"

"And I know you don't care, but I wanted to tell you anyway. I wanted to tell you because I wouldn't be where I am today without you," continued Pharah. "If it weren't for you, I'd never would have been a member of Overwatch. And I know things are difficult. Neither you nor Commander Morrison will tell us exactly what happened in Switzerland, but I know it must have hurt. I just wanted to tell you that, regardless of what you did in Switzerland, or with Doomfist, or with Talon… You'll never be my enemy. You will always be Uncle Gabe." She reached into her pocket and withdrew a small box, which she sat on Reaper's lap.

He opened it, lifting up the dented, rusty old dud of a rocket. Reaper stared at it blankly, as if he had never seen it before. He felt Pharah quickly wrap her arms around him in a quick hug before she stood up and turned.

"I'm sorry if I made things uncomfortable," said Pharah. "Truth be told, I'm a bit embarrassed."

"I won't tell if you won't."

Pharah smiled, then turned for the door. Maybe Uncle Gabe _was_ in there somewhere.

"Amari." Pharah stopped, turning to face the Reaper. "Drop and give me fifty."

She smirked and dropped down, doing her push-ups slowly so she could savor the memories.

Uncle Gabe was definitely in there. He just needed help getting out.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Now is probably as good a time as any to talk about the timeline of this story. Due to how we're getting plot, I might have to fill in blanks that later get invalidated by canon. If that happens, just bear with me.**

 **Thank you for your understanding.**


	9. Boo-Boo

Hana rushed through the house, her sights set on the kitchen. This weekend marked the release of WoW's 500th expansion pack, and she was meant to host a charity stream. But, in order for 72 uninterrupted hours of MMO bliss to take place, Hana would need snacks, and lots of them.

When she turned into the kitchen, she immediately forgot all of her plans for video games. Her focus was wholly devoted to the newest addition to the OverHouse. Efi was sitting on the floor and clutching her knee in pain. Blood oozed from a scrape on her leg, which she tried to contain with her hands.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" asked Hana, rushing to Efi's side.

"I think so," said Efi. "I was going to grab a glass of water before returning to the lab, but I tripped over this." She held up what was undeniably one of Junkrat's Steel Traps. "It was not armed, thankfully, but I skinned my knee on one of the teeth."

"I'm going to give Jamison a piece of my mind, leaving his crap around like that…" grumbled Hana. "But first, let's get you patched up." Hana reached into her pocket and withdrew a standard-issue Overwatch holographic tablet. "Let's see… Lucio and Mercy are in Dorado, Zen is back home for the weekend… Ha! There you are." She tapped on the tablet, having to wait no more than three seconds before the line connected.

"Yes, little one?" said Ana. "What's the matter?"

"Little Efi scraped her knee on one of Fawkes' traps," said Hana. "Could you patch her up, Mama Bear?"

"Of course, my cub, bring her up!"

Hana shoved the tablet back into her pocket and gently hoisted Efi from the floor. She flipped her around, piggy-back style, and carried her through the house. She carried her up the stairs, eventually stopping at a door at the end of the hallway. Efi knocked gently, at which point the door slid open with a puff and allowed the girls to step in.

Ana's room was immediately captivating to Efi. The four-poster bed was draped with scarlet drapes, bleeding out elegance into the rest of the room. On Ana's nightstand were several sticks of burning incense, which blanketed the room with a calming, almost spiritual aroma. It was different than anything Efi had experienced but, strangely, it made her feel at home. Sitting at a desk, flipping through documents, was the healer herself.

"Ah, Little Efi, it's about time we've met," said Ana, turning from her work. "I apologize for my scarcity around the House lately, I've been rather busy helping Mercy prepare for the annual examinations… Bah, but that's no excuse! What seems to be the issue, dear?"

"It's my knee, Ms. Amari," said Efi. "It's bleeding quite a lot."

"Set her down on the bed, Hana," said Ana. Hana did as she was told, then turned to see the faint trail of blood that had followed them from the kitchen.

"I better go clean that up," she said. "And kick Jamie's butt while I'm at it."

DVa rolled up her sleeves and marched out of the room, no doubt to find Junkrat and give him a piece of her mind. Ana chuckled to herself, a smile creeping to her lips.

"She reminds me of Fareeha…" she said softly. Ana cleared her throat, then rose from her seat to inspect Efi's leg. "Just a tiny scrape, nothing to be concerned about." Ana noticed that Efi was staring slightly, her gaze focused on her eyepatch. "Is there something on your mind?"

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to be rude," said Efi, immediately looking away.

"Oh, you're just too polite, little one. Understand, Efi, that manners should never stand between you and knowledge," said Ana. "If you want to know about something, the best way is to ask." There was quiet for a moment while Efi tried to get her question straight in her head. Despite Ana's assurances, Efi still didn't want to come off as disrespectful. Her parents had taught her well that she should respect her elders and her superiors, and Ana Amari fell into both categories.

"If I'm not overstepping my boundaries by asking, ma'am, I'd like to know," said Efi sheepishly. "What happened to your eye?"

"When I was still a soldier, I had a face-off with a rival," explained Ana. "I hesitated, and they made me pay for it. I lost that day, but that's okay. It taught me a valuable lesson."

"A lesson?"

"It taught me that my skills and talents are better spent helping people, rather than hurting them." Ana pulled a footlocker from beneath her bed and flipped it open. "And, speaking of helping people… Let's fix you up."

"Thank you, Ms. Amari," said Efi. "I'm glad I got to meet you today. You remind me of my mother."

"Well, little one, I'm everyone's mother here," said Ana. She grabbed her Biotic Rifle from the footlocker and aimed it at Efi's leg. "Now hold still."

Ana had been healing the Overwatch team for so long that she had become accustomed to certain things. She had become used to healing her allies in active combat, where her rifle made perfect sense. She had forgotten that the average civilian, like Efi, wasn't aware that technology like the Biotic Rifle even existed. She had forgotten that the only information Efi could gather from the situation is what she could see, and what Efi saw was a strange old soldier pointing a large gun at her leg.

So it made perfect sense for Efi to burst into panicked, frightened tears.

"No! Please, don't! I'll just get a Band-Aid!"


	10. Arundinlogbon

Soldier: 76 sat in his office, looking over expense reports and mission dossiers. Things at the OverHouse had become even more hectic than usual as of late. Frankly, Soldier wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it all without Ana and Mercy's help. He really should've thanked them for their work, but Jack Morrison was the type of man to save the thanks and congratulations until after the mission was over.

"I need a drink…" he muttered to himself.

"Oh, really?" The air in front of his desk shimmered, eventually fading into the image of Sombra. She wore a satisfied smirk and held a glass bottle in her hand, which she shook gently. "Well, I just so happen to have this here whiskey? Would you care for some?"

"That's McCree's," noted Soldier. "And I'm getting sick of telling you: closed door means stay out."

"First, Abuelo, this _used_ to be McCree's," said Sombra. "Second, your door was open when I came in."

"Bullshit. I never saw you come in."

"Well, duh. It'd be no fun if you saw me coming." Sombra vanished with a wave of her hand, reappearing on top of Soldier's desk. She sat the whiskey down and crossed her legs. "Anyway, Abuelo, I needed to ask you a favor."

"And you think breaking into my office is a good way to go about getting your favor?" growled Soldier.

"Door was open, so, at worst, I snuck in. Breaking and entering is so 21st century," said Sombra with a laugh. Then, for the first time since they met, Sombra got serious. "Okay, Abuelo. No jokes. I really need a favor from you."

Soldier studied Sombra intently for a moment, trying to figure her out. On one hand, everything about her screamed deception and trickery. As a notorious hacker, her past shrouded in mystery, Sombra wasn't exactly the most trustworthy of people. Soldier didn't even know her real name. So, for all Soldier knew, this was some sort of play.

On the other hand, Sombra seemed to genuinely enjoy living at the OverHouse. She had been with them for quite some time and had yet to do anything to harm anyone in the house. Sure, she could be infuriating, and certain members of the House (namely Reaper) would gladly shoot her if they could get away with it, but this was her home now. Jack reasoned it was because Overwatch reminded her of Los Muertos: a tightly-knit family who committed felonies near-daily. And, although Soldier: 76 liked to think that his squad was more than a Mexican street gang, he couldn't deny the level of camaraderie and familial bonding that his team had.

"I'm listening," said Soldier. Sombra perked up slightly, a smile creeping to her lips.

"So, I have this friend who's fallen on hard times recently," said Sombra. "He was evicted, and he got laid off from his work, and he has no one to turn to. So, I was wondering… Could he stay here?"

"What the hell do you think this is, the goddamn Ritz-Carlton?" demanded Soldier. "I can't just let random civies into a _goddamn military base!_ "

"He's no civie. He knows his way around the battlefield. If you promise him a bed to sleep in and three hot meals a day, he'll fight for you," said Sombra. "And trust me, Abuelo, you want him to fight for you."

"Still… I don't know if this is a good idea…"

Sombra dropped to her knees, her hands folded in pitiful begging. She pouted out her bottom lip, even managing to make her eyes tear up.

"Please, Abuelo? Do this for me? I'll wash dishes for a month, and I'll do laundry for the whole house, and I promise, he's no freeloader." Sombra fluttered her eyelashes pitifully. "¿Por favor?"

Soldier clutched his head, unsure as to how things had gotten to this point. Twenty years ago, he was the head of the largest military unit in the entire world, the pinnacle of world peace and unity. Today, a small Mexican girl was begging him to let her friend stay.

"Christ, I must be losing my mind…" growled Soldier. "Fine! He can stay, on a probationary period. If I'm not impressed with him in 30 days, you better help him find an apartment."

"You promise?" asked Sombra. Soldier groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"Yes, Sombra. I promise."

There was a loud, thunderous knock, causing the house itself to quake. Sombra jumped up, clapping with excitement.

"He's here! Come, let's go greet him!" Sombra ran out of the office, followed by Soldier, his paperwork long since forgotten. He shook his head as he followed Sombra through the halls, eventually stopping at the main entrance to the house. Soldier grunted tiredly, then pulled the door open.

Standing on the other side was a massive man, easily seven feet in height. He wore a grey sweatshirt, with the right arm positively obliterated to accommodate the giant, golden gauntlet he wore over his arm. His left arm seemed to be a prosthetic, though a very convincing one. He stared down at Soldier, who stared right back up at him for several moments before Sombra broke the silence.

"¿Ey, hermano, que pasa? It's been ages!" said Sombra brightly. "Aka, this is Abuelo, Soldier: 76. Abuelo, this is—"

"Akande Ogundimu," said Soldier stiffly. "Also known as Doomfist."

"Greetings, Captain," said Doomfist, his voice deep and low. "I thank you for allowing me to stay here."

"Which you totally did Abuelo," said Sombra. "You promised and everything!"

"That was _before_ I knew your friend was _the leader of an international band of terrorists!_ "

"To be fair, Abuelo, that's kinda on you for not asking."

Before Soldier could yell at Sombra, they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps down the stairs.

"What is all this racket?" asked Widowmaker as she descended down the staircase. "I'm trying to…" Widow's eyes went wide, and a rare grin flashed across her face. "Akande! It simply has been forever!"

"You are right. It has been far too long since I last laid eyes on beauty such as yours." Doomfist took Widow's hand in his own, kissing it gently. "It is nice seeing you, Amelie. But wait. Where is The Reaper? Wherever you are, Gabriel cannot be far behind."

"Of course not. Reyes wouldn't ever get anything done if I wasn't around to clean up his messes. I'll go tell him you've arrived, then we _must_ catch up."

"That sounds wonderful, ọlọ́kàn mi," chuckled Doomfist. He kissed Widow's hand again before letting her go to fetch Gabriel. Meanwhile, Soldier: 76 continued to angrily glare at him, apparently making no attempt to break the silence. "Is something the matter, Captain?"

"Listen here, and listen good. This is my house, and these people are my family. Last time you had a run in with my family, you hurt someone I care about very dearly," said Soldier.

"I am sorry for—"

"No. You're not. But, if you do anything to hurt anyone in this house, I will make you sorry. Very, _very_ sorry. Sorry you showed your face around here, sorry you broke out of prison, sorry that you ever put that glove on your hand. So, understand this, Ogundimu, you are in my house now. That means you live by my rules. If you break _any_ of my rules, I won't just lock you in a cage and throw away the key. I will put you in a hole." Soldier jabbed Doomfist in the chest with his finger. "And throw away the hole."

"Eh… Abuelo?" said Sombra. "That doesn't make any—"

"And, for tricking me into making this promise, you get dishes and laundry duty for _three_ months."

"But Abuelo!"

"Is that sass I hear? Cause sass is good for six months."

It went quiet for a bit as Sombra stared at the ground, totally defeated.

"Sorry, Abuelo…"

"Good. I actually believe that." Soldier considered his options. "We don't have a room for you right now, so you'll be in the basement."

"That is more than sufficient," said Doomfist with a good-natured grin. "At least you have internal heating! More than I can say for my last home."

"Winston is down there," said Soldier with a smirk. Doomfist's grin faltered for just a moment before popping right back up.

"Well. If ever there was a time to make amends… I will see you in the morning, Captain Morrison."

"And I better get to work on this laundry," sighed Sombra. "Thank you, Abuelo. This really does mean a lot to me. See you around."

She waved her hands and translocated out of the room. Soldier watched as Doomfist slowly trudged through the hall, headed for downstairs. The biggest criminal in the world, responsible for many deaths and countless dollars worth of destruction, was living in his basement.

"What the hell is even happening with my life?" sighed Soldier. "I hope Sombra didn't take that whiskey back…"


	11. The Pool Party: Pranks

"Come on, Satya!" laughed Lucio. "Have some fun for once in your life!"

Symmetra ignored him, her focus entirely devoted to the magazine she was reading. She simply could not understand why, in a society full of creature comforts like air conditioning and kitchen stoves, why anyone thought it would be a good idea to go out in the sweltering heat and cook in the most primitive way imaginable. Yet, whether she understood it or agreed with it, her hands were tied. The Overwatch Annual Pool Party was a mandatory endeavor, and Symmetra was stuck baking in the roasting heat of the sun along with everybody else.

To be perfectly frank, Symmetra didn't much mind the heat. She was born and raised in India, after all, so she was fairly used to considerably high temperatures. And most of the OverHouse knew well enough that Symmetra didn't like to be bothered in the best of times, so they should steer clear for the time being. While the rest of the House mixed and mingled, some frolicking in the pools while others chatted by the grill, the only person to join Symmetra in her sunbathing by the pool was Widowmaker, who also didn't especially want to be there. She had her own magazine to distract her, and no words were exchanged between the two for the full twenty minutes of them sitting poolside. Symmetra was almost enjoying herself, despite everything that stood in between her and a good time.

Then, Lucio swam along and tried to get her in the pool. He wore lime green shorts, bright yellow arm-floaties, and his trademark neon green shades. Everything about him made Symmetra angry on a fundamental level.

"What are you, a witch? A bit of water won't kill you." Lucio sent a splash of water at Symmetra, getting her feet wet. She peered over her visor, wishing she could murder the Brazilian rebel with just the power of her glare.

"If you splash me again, I will grab my Photon Projector and use it to boil your pool," snarled Symmetra.

"Oh, come on, Satty, just a quick dip! You won't regret it," said Lucio, giving his brightest, most genuine smile. "I swear, a little dip will flip that frown of yours."

"I will pass, dos Santos."

Lucio shrugged, then turned and swam further in to join DVa and Tracer near the other end of the pool. Symmetra sighed, then returned to her reading, hoping to keep her sanity for a bit longer than speaking with Lucio would allow. Before she got too far, she heard something metallic clatter into the beach chair beside her and, when she turned to see what it was, she was met with the purple light that signalled a Translocating hacker in the form of Sombra.

"Hola, mamacita," said Sombra with a wave. She had traded out her usual jacket and purple-black leggings for purple-green shorts and top. Just like when Lucio approached her, Symmetra wanted nothing more than to microwave the approaching threat and return to her reading.

"What do you want?" she sighed instead, deciding not to test her luck. Though Soldier: 76 was devoted to his grill and had his back to most of the party-goers, Symmetra knew that he could smell conflict and would bring the hammer down on anyone who dared tried to ruin the party.

"Just popped in to say 'hey'. Realise we haven't spoken much since I got here," said Sombra, wearing her trademark mischievous grin. "Thought I should fix that."

"Our lack of interaction was not unintentional," said Symmetra, horribly bluntly. "Our work rarely overlapped, and I had no desire to speak with you." She glanced up from her magazine and almost sarcastically added, "No offense."

"None taken. I'm a bit of a loner, myself. I feel for you, Symmy."

"Do _not_ call me that."

"Satty?" Symmetra glared at Sombra with the heat of a thousand suns. "Symmy it is, then."

"Please, go away," sighed Symmetra. "If I wanted to speak Spanish with a anti-establishment, rebellious lunatic, I'd go back to chatting with dos Santos."

"First of all, Lucio only speaks English. Second, if English was his second language, his first wouldn't be Spanish. He's Brazilian, so he would speak Portuguese. And third…" Sombra tapped at the air, summoning little purple hexagons into the air. "Maybe you should consider being a bit nicer to me."

 _Because you're going to want to hear my offer._

The letters appeared directly onto Symmetra's visor, obscuring her vision with the large, blocky letters. She turned to glare at Sombra, who put her finger to her lip.

 _Don't react to these messages. Keep up the conversation. Can't have anyone overhearing our little Girl Talk._

"So, how're you liking the party?" asked Sombra. "Having fun?"

"Not especially," said Symmetra through gritted teeth. "I am not much for socializing."

"Hm. I guess I should've expected that." Sombra spoke as if she wasn't currently hacking into Symmetra's gear. "I'm thinking of hopping into the pool. You wanna join me?"

 _You don't much like Lucio, do you?_

"No. I don't." That was an answer to both of Sombra's question, which the hacker knew for sure.

"Aw, that's a shame. I'd kill to see you in a bikini." She winked as she spoke, to which Symmetra's only response was a roll of the eyes. "What'd he ever do to you?"

"Our ideals are diametrically opposed, and that is an obstacle that neither of us care to or are able to overcome."

"That's probably the most boring way I've ever heard somebody describe a blood feud," chuckled Sombra. She glanced around, her grin growing sneakier and more mischievous with time. "¡Ay, está ardiendo aquí! I'm going to hit the cooler. Want something?"

 _Ever think of messing with him?_

"Hm… Yes." Symmetra strangely found herself lowering her magazine. "I think I'd like that a lot, actually."

"Okay, Symmy. Beer or soda?"

' _Atta girl. I've been itching to prank someone for ages! If you want in, ask for a beer._

Symmetra thought things over for a moment. There she sat, a genius architect, an agent of Vishkar, and she was considering playing a prank on a boy she didn't like. It was juvenile, foolish, and the exact thing she would've berated Lucio for. Then, she recalled every night of sleep gone because of his dreadful music blasting throughout the House, and every obnoxious attempt he made at conversing with her, and every time she went to retrieve her leftover curry only to find that it had been eaten and he swore that he didn't touch it.

"I wouldn't say no to a beer," said Symmetra, locking eyes intensely with her new partner-in-crime. Sombra just grinned, the gears in her head clearly turning.

"Be right back."

* * *

Symmetra sat, reading her magazine, as if her conversation with Sombra had never occurred. The hacker in question wasn't around at the moment, instead lounging near the cooler and chatting with McCree and Ana. 76 had run to the store to grab more hot dog buns after they mysteriously vanished. The coast was clear, the pieces in place. Now, all Symmetra had to do was play her part.

She sighed, sat down her magazine, and kicked off her shoes. Symmetra cautiously stood up and made her way to the pool, taking a seat at the edge and sinking her feet into the water. She scanned the scene, her eyes falling on her target. Lucio was floating near the corner of the pool, laughing with DVa about something Symmetra couldn't quite hear.

Symmetra waited, and waited, until, finally, Lucio turned and noticed her. He grinned and, after uttering some form of farewell as he swam over to meet with Symmetra. He waded by her feet, his grin as wide as ever.

"Finally getting your feet wet, huh?" chuckled Lucio. "Glad you finally decided to join us. I know we don't always see eye to eye, but that don't mean we can't party together."

"Hm. And I apologize for my behavior earlier." Those words tasted like vinegar in Symmetra's mouth, but she managed to get them out relatively easily. "It's been a difficult week for me, and I let the stress get to me. Forgive me."

"Nah, it's cool. I know what it's like to have a lot on your plate. That's why I've been trying to get you to just chill every now and then," said Lucio. "You should come kick it with us some time. Me, Lena, Hana and Winston do movie night on Fridays. You're more than welcome to join us."

Lucio's offer sounded extremely unattractive to Symmetra, who thought her Friday nights were better spent doing something actually important. She normally spent her weekends brainstorming on how to expand and improve the OverHouse, which was something of a full-time job. The House was Symmetra's baby, after all, and she vowed that she would be dead and buried before she let it degrade or become obsolete and outdated. As such, she focused much of her time on keeping the OverHouse at the forefront of architecture. This dedication left very little time for frivolous pursuits like movie night.

"But, y'know, I dig that you're busy. You probably have better things to do," continued Lucio. "Just think about it, okay? Drop by if you've got time."

For some reason, Symmetra wasn't as repulsed at the idea of spending an evening with Lucio and his friends. She still wasn't keen on it, and she wasn't about to instantaneously become best friends with any of them, but she did appreciate Lucio's respect for her schedule and the open nature of his invitation.

Not that that would stop her from pranking him into oblivion, of course.

"I may well take you up on that. Someday," said Symmetra. Lucio grinned, then pulled himself up next to Symmetra.

"Good, good. Hey, I know you don't like crowds, but you really should come hang out with us over there." Lucio pointed to Tracer and DVa, who waved from their end of the pool. "We're not really doing anything. Just a couple of friends chillin'. You down?"

"I'm not especially good at speaking to people. I suppose you could call it social anxiety. It's part of my… Ahem. My 'reality'." It wasn't easy for Symmetra to speak about her condition, even if it was for her own benefit like it was here. It was difficult to accept that, no matter how sharp and developed her mind was, there was something inherently wrong with it. "It's simply who I am."

"I get it, it's cool. Don't worry about it. If you feel yourself work up the courage, just drop on by," said Lucio, slipping back into the pool. "It was nice talking to you for once, Satty. Satya. Sorry." He smiled sheepishly. "Well, see you around."

There. Her opportunity presented itself, clear as day.

"Lucio, wait!" said Symmetra. Lucio paused, turning back to face. "I would… I would like to… Join you."

"Really? Awesome! C'mon, then!"

"Wait, I just…" Symmetra's breathing quickened, her breaths more shallow and frequent. "One moment. It's… Difficult for me to…"

"Whoa, girl, are you having a panic attack?" asked Lucio. Symmetra nodded frantically, and Lucio immediately leapt out of the pool. "What do you need? How can I help?"

"W-water!" Symmetra pointed weakly to the cooler, trying and failing to control her breathing. "Please…"

"Back in a flash." Lucio ran to grab Symmetra the drink she needed, at which point Symmetra dropped her act. She watched as Lucio made his way to the cooler, were Sombra was innocently waiting. The two locked eyes, Sombra giving a wink, which told Symmetra that it was time to put the finishing touches on the prank. She aimed as carefully as she could, and, as soon as Lucio kicked open the cooler, snapped the fingers on her prosthetic arm, sending forward a Photon Barrier at about ankle level.

Near-simultaneously, Sombra began her hacking. She usually only hacked her targets weapons and abilities off, but, with a bit more time and knowledge of how they worked, she could hack them to be controlled remotely. She did this now to Lucio's Sonic Amplifier, which she had stashed in the cooler a while ago. When Lucio opened the cooler to grab a water bottle for Symmetra, he was met with a Soundwave blast from his own weapon, which sent him flying backwards. Sombra laughed hysterically as Lucio stumbled backwards, tripped over the low-flying Photon Barrier, and tumbled headfirst into the pool.

"GAH!"

Sombra couldn't stop laughing, even as she Translocated beside her accomplice and offered her a high-five (which Symmetra had no intention of reciprocating).

"Nice work, mamacita," chuckled Sombra. "We got him good!"

"I suppose that was amusing," said Symmetra with a small smirk. She stared at the water, her smirk slowly falling away into nothing. "Should he not be coming back up by now?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Might've knocked him out or something. I don't know the exact settings he puts his gun on," admitted Sombra. "So I put it on max specs. That _might_ have been a bit much."

"You did _what_?! You could've killed him!"

"Oh, don't be dramatic, he's fine. Look, he's swimming back up."

Lucio was indeed swimming back to the surface. His swimming soon became flailing, which became what was undoubtedly drowning. Symmetra's eyes went wide, her rival crying for help in the water before her.

"Sombra! You knocked off his floaties with that blast! He's drowning!" snapped Symmetra. "Save him!"

"I can't swim either, mija." Sombra shrugged her shoulders. "No use in us both drowning."

Symmetra swore under her breath and dove into the pool, swimming as quickly as she could. She knew she didn't have long before the water began to negatively impact her prosthetic arm, and she needed to at least have Lucio in her grasp before her arm gave up on her. She managed to make it to him and begin her backstroke to land before her left arm sparked and fell limp to her side, entirely useless. By this point, it was more unpleasant than difficult to drag Lucio through the water and back to land, where Sombra pulled him out and laid him out on his back. Symmetra joined them in time to hear Lucio cough weakly, his body limp and almost lifeless.

"Dos Santos! Are you okay?" demanded Symmetra. "Don't you dare die!"

"Satya… I don't know if I'm gonna… Oh, this isn't good…" croaked Lucio. "There's something I gotta tell you…"

"Shut up! Someone get this man a Healer!" Symmetra shouted wildly, looking over her shoulder for some sort of help. "Mercy! Ana! Anyone!"

"Satya… C'mere…" Lucio looked to be on death's door, any word he spoke liable to be his last. "I've always… wanted to tell you something…"

"Dos Santos…" Symmetra leaned in, squeezing Lucio's hand in her own. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to tell you… Tell you that you're… You're so…" Lucio sat up suddenly, unable to keep his laughs under wraps any longer. "Ha! You're so gullible!"

Symmetra felt her eye involuntarily twitch, and the wrath of the gods brew in her heart.

"I… I beg your pardon?" said Symmetra. Lucio chuckled, high-fiving Sombra.

"Bit of advice, Satty," said Lucio with a grin. "Never prank a prankster. Thanks for the help, Sombra."

"The pleasure was all mine," said Sombra, matching Lucio's smile. "Now, if you excuse me, this party's only just getting started. I still have to mess with Gabe. ¡Adios!" Sombra vanished, leaving the two rivals alone to hash out their problems.

"You ruined my arm," said Symmetra flatly.

"Ah, it'll dry out. Or Winston can fix it. It's no biggie," said Lucio dismissively. "Well, I'm gonna bounce. That invite wasn't just for the brank, by the way. If you wanna hang, all you gotta do is ask."

Lucio dove back into the pool and swam back to join his friends, who were waiting and laughing along with him. Symmetra, meanwhile, was steaming angrily at fact that she had been outsmarted by some low-class, anarchist, so-called "freedom fighter".

"I'm going to kill him," said Symmetra to herself. Outloud, she shouted, "One moment! I'm coming!"

* * *

 **Author's Note: This chapter is something different than usual, because it's the start of an interconnected arc. The Pool Party will be a series of chapter revolving around the Overwatch Annual Pool Party. There's 25 Heroes in attendance, and countless numbers of stories to tell at this one party. Hope you enjoy.**


	12. The Pool Party: Swimsuit

"Oi, Hana, are you…" Tracer stopped in the doorway, words completely failing her for a moment. "Oh my God…"

"Shut up! I know, I hate it!" pouted DVa, crossing her arms over her chest. She had never more envied Tracer than she did right then. Tracer stood in the doorway wearing her favorite bright orange bikini, which showed plenty of skin and left very little to the imagination. That's how Tracer liked it, of course. Though she wouldn't seriously consider getting herself "involved" with her coworkers (with a few exceptions), she did like to tease the likes of McCree, Genji, and Junkrat, who tended to stare at an outfit like her's. She even opted for her much smaller Chronal Accelerator, clipped onto her waistband to keep it out of the way. It was about the size of a pocket watch, and did little more than keep her anchored in the timeline, but that was fine. Blinking and Recalling were much lower on Tracer's list of priorities that day than comfort and looking good.

DVa, on the other hand, was wearing a cotton candy-pink one piece swimsuit, covered in frills. It was something you'd put on a child, not a grown woman like DVa. The swimsuit, along with her pouting and her smaller proportions, gave her the appearance of someone much younger than 19.

"What happened? I thought we picked out that pink and black one last week," said Tracer, trying not to laugh. "Change of heart?"

"Gramps vetoed it. Said I was too young to be wearing something like that," huffed DVa, clearly annoyed. "I can wear whatever I want! I'm a grown-up!"

"Anyone who says the word 'grown-up' _isn't_ a grown-up," said Tracer. She noticed DVa's pout intensify, which made her chuckle sheepishly. "Sorry, love, just something my dad would say to me when I tried to wear heels in middle school."

"But I'm _not_ in middle school! I'm 19 years old! I drive a mech! I shoot robots and terrorists for a living!" DVa through her hands up incredulously. "I livestream _wars_ on Twitch! Why can't I wear what I want to?"

"Sorry, love, not much we can do about it," said Tracer with a shrug. "Pop's said 'no', and I've never been able to change his mind about anything before. Not much to do 'cept make the best of it."

"How come you get to wear your swimsuit? Yours is _way_ more revealing than mine was!"

"I'm a grown-up, apparently."

"Yo, Lena, Hana!"

The girls' conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the third member of their little group. As the younger residents of the OverHouse (Efi notwithstanding), it made sense for DVa, Tracer, and Lucio to gravitate towards one another. Their youth, combined with their bright, bubbly personalities and slightly irresponsible, reckless behavior combined to make the trio inseparable. They had all agreed that they would hang out in the pool that day, which Lucio was clearly ready for. He wore lime-green shorts and, strangely enough, bright yellow arm-floaties. It's not what he was wearing that caught DVa's attention.

It's what he wasn't wearing, which was a shirt, that had DVa staring blankly for several moments before she was able to snap back to reality.

"Hey, Lucio," said Tracer. "What's the deal, mate?"

"That's what I came to ask you! We still tryin' to hang or what?" he asked. "Gramps already has the grill going."

"Soz, mate, we were just having a bit of a girl chat." Tracer jabbed her thumb in DVa's direction. "Pops put the kibosh on Hana's original outfit, and she's not too keen on that."

"Oh, is that all? Girl, you look fine!" Lucio smirked so genuinely that it was next to impossible not to return his smile. "Matter fact, I like this one better. It's cute. Something about it is so… DVa."

DVa looked down at her frilly, girly pink swimsuit, feeling her heart skip a beat. Now that she really looked at it, it really wasn't that bad…

"Well, whatever you put on, I bet you'll rock it, so hurry up!" said Lucio. "I gotta go talk to Sombra about something, meet me at the pool!"

"S-sure thing!" said DVa. Lucio smirked, then hurried out of the room and down the hall to meet with Sombra for whatever it is he needed. DVa sat there, frozen for several moments and entirely oblivious to the knowing, mischievous smirk that Tracer was currently wearing. It wasn't until she looked up did she notice Tracer's grin, and she immediately felt nervous about it.

"What?"

"You're blushing, Hana," said Tracer, barely able to contain herself.

"I am _not_ blushing," promised DVa. "I don't blush."

"Admit it, Han, you're blushing like an anime girl!"

"That's racist."

"Oh, come off it, mate." Tracer rolled her eyes and gave DVa a friendly jab in the shoulder. "I know that look. You've got the 'I didn't realize how much I fancied you until just now and I dunno what to do about it' eyes!"

It got quiet for a moment as DVa considered what Tracer had said, at which point she blushed even more than before.

"That's not a real thing, Lena! And I don't 'fancy' him or whatever!" DVa couldn't possibly meet Tracer's gaze, and she made it her duty to look anywhere but directly at Tracer. Meanwhile, Tracer found this whole situation to be spectacularly funny, and, frankly, adorable.

"Oh my god, you two would make just the cutest power couple! You could do charity concerts and streams together!" squealed Tracer.

"We already do. He was a special guest for my StarCraft Comeback Stream," pointed out DVa. "And I was at his last couple of album parties. We've been working together for a while, actually."

"Well, duh, you've been working together, but not 'together' together! Are you gonna ask him out, or wait for him to ask you? Oh, you should ask him, it'll be—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let's just say, for the sake of argument, that I do… _fancy_ Lucio," said DVa, her blush growing even more profound. "And, by the way, that's not what I'm saying, but let's say I do. What makes you think he feels the same back? In this totally, 100% hypothetical scenario."

Tracer burst into loud, raucous, knee-slapping laughter, that didn't cease for several long, annoyed moments.

"Oh, you were serious?" she asked, when she finally stopped laughing. "Haven't you been paying _any_ attention? He sits next to you at breakfast—"

"So do you, sometimes. And Mei-Ling. And, if I'm really unlucky, Jamie. That mean that you all have a thing for me, too?"

"You two go out all the time!"

"To clubs and stuff, just as friends!" countered DVa. "Hanzo and Reinhardt go out grocery shopping together sometimes, you don't see me shipping them!"

"I've seen you wearing one of Lucio's hoodies on at _least_ three occasions! You two are basically dating already!"

"That was when Bastion accidentally broke the washing machine," said DVa. "And it was cold, so Lucio let me borrow his hoodie. Besides, it's good cross-promotion. I posted some pics of me in the hoodie to help him hype an album, and he returned the favor with one of my shirts. It's just us being friendly."

"Oh, don't be daft! He's into you!" Tracer groaned, trying to find some more concrete to convince DVa. "Hm… Oh! 'Member the other day, we were talking about music? You asked him what his favorite song was?"

"Yeah, he said 'You'. I think it's an old hip-hop song. Something about a boy or a soldier or something."

"No, you plonker, he meant 'you'! As in you, Hana!"

"What? There's a song called 'Hana'?"

Tracer slapped her forehead in absolute disbelief. When DVa got her mind set on something, changing her position was like pulling teeth, and DVa had apparently gotten her mind set on the idea that she and Lucio were no more than friends.

"Love, real quick. What's your name?" asked Tracer.

"Uh… Hana?"

"The whole thing."

"Hana… So… Oh. Oh!" DVa's eyes went wide. "Really? That's what he meant?" Tracer nodded. "Man, now I feel dumb for telling him that I'd never heard it…"

"So, what are you gonna do now, dummy?" asked Tracer. DVa rubbed her chin in thought for a moment. She really didn't think Lucio could be anything more than a friend until that day. That said, she would be lying if she said she was opposed to the idea. Lucio was a genuine, sweet, funny, charming guy with a big heart and good looks. What exactly did DVa have to be afraid of?

If he still wanted to hang out with her after she momentarily forgot her own last name, DVa was convinced she couldn't scare him away if she tried.

"Well, guess I'm gonna ask him out," said DVa. "Let me go put on my make-up…"


	13. The Pool Party: Memories

"An' with God as my witness, I ain't never see someone hit that hard in my life," chuckled McCree. "Mrs. Ana just 'bout slapped Gabe a different color!"

Pharah joined in on the laugh, recalling with a sort of bittersweet amusement that day. The two floated in the pool, doing a bit of catching up for old time's sake. Though Pharah and McCree didn't have as much time to spend with one another as they used to, there were few residents of the OverHouse with a bond as strong as their own. Pharah looked at McCree as the older brother she never had, and Jesse had always protected his little Fara like a sister. They had some great memories, many of which involving Gabriel Reyes getting into hot water with the deceptively ferocious Ana Amari.

"I remember that," said Pharah with a grin. "Oh, she was so upset at him for taking me to the firing range, but what she did to Gabriel paled in comparison to what she did to you." McCree grimaced at the memory, sinking a little deeper into the water.

"Damn it, Fara, here we were havin' a good time an' you just had to go an' remind me of that," grumbled McCree. "Damn near broke my fingers with that damn wood spoon of hers for giving you that rocket launcher."

"It occurs to me that I never properly thanked you for that. In a way, you were partially responsible for me finally being able to join Overwatch. If it weren't for you giving me that rocket launcher… I might still be working for Helix, or worse… my old job at the TSA…"

"Don't mention it. Y'all had my back when we was younger. Call it even. In fact, considering how much damn trouble I got in with yer ma, I probably owe you." McCree shuddered slightly. "That woman's got the face of an angel and the temper of Satan himself. Ain't nobody scared me more than she did."

Pharah raised a questioning eyebrow. Somehow, that didn't seem quite right to her. While she was the last person on the planet to doubt her mother's ferocity, she assumed that there would be someone higher on McCree's list of of entirely rational fears.

"Really? Nobody scared you more?"

"Not even close."

"What about Gabriel? He was basically your father. I remember him giving you hell."

"Fara, lemme tell you something. Gabe might've scared you, but I got enough sense to know who really to worry 'bout," said McCree with a shake of his head. "Thing is, Gabe was _always_ an asshole, so at least you could prepare for it. Mrs. Ana, though… She's the toughest, scariest agent Overwatch ever had."

"My ears are burning."

McCree immediately sat up a bit straighter, while Pharah just rolled her eyes. Two women settled into the pool, one of which being the subject of discussion. Beside her was Mercy, which brought a smile to Pharah's face. She had always been fond of Doctor Zeigler, being among the sweetest and most good-hearted people Pharah had ever known. Plus, Mercy tended to be assigned missions with her, so Pharah had developed a bit of a friendship and familiarity with the good doctor.

"Hello, Mother, Angela," said Pharah. "Jesse and I were just strolling down memory lane. We were just recounting how _terrified_ he was of you."

"Hey, I could do without that attitude," said McCree with a chuckle. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Mrs. Ana always seemed mighty scorned 'round me."

"That's because you were always causing trouble," remarked Ana. "If you would have just followed orders instead of devoting your life to antagonizing Gabriel, I wouldn't have had to be so tough on you."

"You _did_ give him a hard time, though," noted Mercy. "You afforded him very little leniency."

"Hm. I suppose I was tough. But only because I saw what you were capable of, Jesse. I thought a bit of tough love would do you good. I knew you could grow up to be a good man." Ana gave a devious smirk. "It's not too late."

"Har-de-har. I guess you knew what you were doing, though. I turned out pretty okay," said McCree. "All things considered, I mean."

"I understand that you can be quite intimidating, Mother," said Pharah. "But I don't know if I agree with his claim that you were the scariest member of the original Overwatch. I give that title to Gabriel. Even before his obsession with skulls, souls, and black leather, he was incredibly scary."

"I'm telling you, Fara, yer ma made Gabe look like a birthday clown."

"Actually, Jesse, I'm _not_ the scariest," said Ana. "Nor is Gaberiel."

"Then who is?" asked Mercy.

"Oh, that's easy. You are, Angela."

All of the present parties looked at Ana as if she had just sprouted a second head.

"Uh… What?" said Mercy. "Me? How am I the scariest? I'm a medic!"

"You are a Dr. Frankenstein with the ability to raise the dead and with no regard for the laws of human morality. You are capable of creating an army of terrifyingly-powerful, furious, unkillable demons such as The Reaper. Some cultures, my own included, would call you a witch and have you stoned to death."

Pharah wanted to argue, but, when she heard it explained like that, it was difficult to continue looking at Angela Ziegler as the sweet, good-hearted doctor that Pharah thought her to be.

"Eh… Angela, can you be considered… A mad scientist?" asked Pharah cautiously.

"I suppose you could call me that," admitted Mercy. "But, personally, I prefer the term 'savior of the damned'." She turned to pout at her fellow Healer. "And I am _not_ scary! I use my abilities for the good of mankind! Though I may have had to argue with the university the ethics of what I do, I do nothing but good things with my Resurrect!" She paused to think for a moment. "Besides creating The Reaper, of course. That was an accident. The point remains, I am not scary!"

"Tell me, Angela, do you recall the Omnic Siege on Zürich?" asked Ana.

"Natürlich! How could I forget the attack of my home?"

"Specifically, do you recall how it came to an end?" Mercy didn't respond immediately, which meant to Ana that it was story time. "It was before you had perfected Rez, and you could only revive those who had passed very recently. Before you even carried a gun. You, Winston, and Torbjorn had just created what you called the Valkyrie Suit MK II. You claimed it would give you unparalleled healing capabilities and safety on the battlefield."

"And?" asked Pharah. "Did it?"

"It did indeed, habibti. But it also gave her much, much more."

* * *

Angela Ziegler stood amongst the rubble of her hometown, her hand tightly grasping her Caduceus Staff as it beamed towards her fellow doctor, Dr. Claudio Castagnoli. She swore under her breath, wishing she was quicker. She had known Claudio since medical school, close friends during their studies. Now, he sat bleeding onto the stones of his ruined city. Strewn among the devastated buildings of the previously prosperous, beautiful city of Zürich were the bodies of her fallen comrades. There was nothing that she could do. Their souls had long since departed, and not even Mercy's Resurrect could save them.

"Come on, Claudio," she whispered. "Wake up! Please, don't die, please…"

The stomping of metal against stone stole Angela's attention from her fallen friend. Approaching her was a horde of omnics, at least twenty bots who didn't care in the slightest that she was an unarmed medic. They would kill her just the same. The smart thing to do would be to evacuate, but Mercy couldn't even consider it. She couldn't leave Claudio here. Not after all he had done for her.

"It is time to go."

Angela didn't look up from her fruitless healing, even as her superior officer approached. Captain Amari knelt beside Mercy, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"He's gone, Doctor Ziegler. I don't want to see you join him," said Captain Amari. "There will always be another battle. That is where you're needed."

"They… They killed him," said Angela. Captain Amari noted the approaching omnics. They had only a few minutes before they were upon them.

"And that is a shame. Castagnoli was a good man, and a better doctor. He's saved countless lives on the battlefield. The man is a hero. He would not want you to throw your life away for nothing." Captain Amari pulled Claudio's dog tag from around his neck and pressed it into Angela's hand. "Live to heal another day, Doctor. Claudio may be gone, but he is not dead. Heroes never die."

Captain Amari stood up, waiting patiently for Angela to join her. Though their time was limited, this wasn't something that one could rush. She had to give Angela a chance to come to terms with things.

"Captain Amari, can I ask you a favor?" said Angela gently.

"Anything, my dear. Just say the word," said Captain Amari.

Angela grabbed the small light pistol that Claudio had clutched with his last bit of strength. She stood up, checking the charge and staring down at the approaching army of omnics, clenching her fists until her knuckles turned white.

"Nano Boost me."

Captain Amari tensed, placing a hand on the wrist-mounted dart launcher that fired her Nano Booster. It was a powerful ability, one that the Captain used very sparingly. Not just anyone received a Boost. It was normally only after serious consideration and discussion between Captain Amari, Commander Morrison, and Strike-commander Reyes does an agent receive clearance for Nano Boost.

"I'm sorry, Angela, but I cannot," said Captain Amari gently. "It wouldn't be—"

Captain Amari stopped, her words lost as she caught Angela Ziegler's cold, dead expression. A chill ran through her body. Amari thought she was past that, that her stint in Overwatch had shown her all of the horrors that life had to offer. The cold, unending rage in Angela's eyes, however, taught her that she had only just begun to learn what horror truly means.

"Verdammt nochmal," said Angela, her voice devoid of all emotion. "Tu es einfach. Just fucking do it."

Captain Amari was taken aback, but slowly aimed her Nano Boost regardless. She fired, a tiny blue syringe burying itself into Angela's shoulder. Immediately, she burst into bright blue light, and gripped her borrowed light pistol even tighter.

"Valkyrie Mode, engage." The wings on Doctor Ziegler's suit expande, large, glowing feathers of light spreading out of her back. With little more than a sideways glance at the Captain, Angela zipped forward through the air, her focus locked onto the still-marching omnics.

"Doctor, wait!" Captain Amari's concerns died immediately. Angela zipped through the air ferociously, blasting apart omnics as if they were made of paper. When her pistol lost charge, she discarded and dispatched the remaining omnics with a combination of blunt melee swings with her Staff and her bare hands. Captain Amari watched in awe for about twenty minutes, eventually approaching when the bots were no longer moving and Angela was simply beating scrap metal.

"Doctor, I think they've had enough," said Captain Amari. One of the bots, his top separate from his bottom, tried to crawl to safety. Angela approached, placing her foot on its middle. Captain Amari grabbed her shoulder. "Stop. You've beaten it. Though we are enemies, you should show him some mercy."

"Mercy? You want me to show it mercy?" asked Angela, outraged. "They've shown us no mercy! They've shown my city no mercy! They've shown Claudio—"

"They are merciless machines. That is why you shouldn't be." Captain Amari pulled Angela back. "Remember your oath, Doctor Ziegler. You are not meant to take lives. Spare him. Be a mercy to the world."

Angela said nothing for a moment, then slowly nodded. She collected the light pistol from the ground and strapped it to her waist. She felt her knees go weak and, before she could hit the ground, Captain Amari slipped her arm beneath her for support.

"You really shouldn't have been Boosted for that long," said Captain Amari. She placed her finger to the comm in her ear. "This is Captain Amari, requesting evac. Sending coordinates now."

"M… Mercy…" said Angela breathlessly. "I… I think I like that…"

* * *

Pharah and McCree stared at Mercy with a mix of horror and awe. Mercy hardly ever fired her gun, even in life-or-death scenarios. To hear that, at some point, she was capable of destroying over twenty omnics by herself… It was sobering, to say the least.

"There is a saying, young ones," said Ana. "Demons run when a good man goes to war. You can only imagine what happens when it's an Angel that goes to war."

"Mein Gott, I wish I didn't remember that," sighed Mercy. "It was not my best moment. I was acting rashly, and it was a bad example to set. Please, don't think of me as that. I wish to be more."

"Well, geez," said McCree. "Sorry, Mrs. Ana. The Doc has you beat for sure."

"Seriously, Mom, you should have sent me to Doctor Ziegler's when I misbehaved," said Pharah with a shudder. "I never would have stepped out of line again."

"I assure you, I don't make a habit of blood-thirsty rages such as that," promised Mercy. She pursed her lips in thought for a moment. "Hm… I never perfected Valkyrie Mode. Perhaps I should look into it again some time…"

Pharah glanced at McCree, both of them sharing looks of concern.

"Please, no!"


	14. The Pool Party: Friends

"Reyes!"

"No."

"With God as my witness, I will drag you out there!"

"I'm not going to your pool party."

Soldier: 76 groaned. Even before Gabriel had become The Reaper, he was always a stubborn pain in Soldier's ass. Now, he had an excuse to be a mopey, angsty emo, and he was taking full advantage of that fact.

Reaper simply did not want to attend the pool party. Why would he? He had nothing to gain from it. It accomplished nothing. All it was was a waste of time, effort, and resources that could better be used. Reaper couldn't stand for it, and he refused to attend, Jack Morrison and his team mandates be damned.

"Reyes, if you don't get your ass out there, I will make what happened in Switzerland look like a goddamn traffic jam," snarled the patriarch of the OverHouse. "The party is mandatory. So, I'm going to suggest you Wraith Form your Crypt Keeper ass outside and start mingling with the others."

"Let me make this perfectly clear, Morrison. I do not mingle. I do not party. And, most importantly…" Reaper slithered forward, staring into his former friend's eyes. "I do _not_ take orders from you."

"When you live under my roof, you live under my rules," snarled 76. "Unless you want me to kick you out, you'll bring your ass out to the pool, get yourself a drink, and soak in some sun."

Reaper growled angrily, his fists clenched angrily. The stand-off persisted for several moments before turning his back to 76. He slowly stalked away for the pool.

"I refuse to stay long," said Reaper as he went.

"You don't have to. Just mingle."

Reaper didn't respond to Soldier, simply skulking away. Soldier sighed, running a hand through what remained of his hair. He was starting to regret this pool party idea.

"He's trying, you know."

76 turned to see none other than Reaper's comrades from Talon. Widowmaker was filing her nails as she approached, whereas Sombra was fidgeting with Lucio's Sonic Amplifier, of all things.

"He really is trying, Abuelo," said Sombra again. "You should cut him some slack."

"Reyes has always been a pain in the ass," said 76. "He's just being whiny for the sake of pissing me off."

"If you truly believe that, you simply do not know Gabriel," said Widowmaker. "Reyes does not act without reason."

"He's bitter. That's his reason."

"Of course he's bitter, Abuelo, you dropped a building on him," said Sombra, rolling her eyes. "He's dying, and everyone he cared about left him for dead. I'd go on a revenge-fueled murder spree, too."

"That's no excuse. We could've helped him. But he chose to be the Reaper. He chose to turn his back on us," said 76 stubbornly. "He's a selfish prick, and that's all there is to it."

"Has it ever occured to you that Reyes does not need the OverHouse?" Widowmaker's tone was cold, a faint sort of anger creeping into her voice. "He does not need a place to stay. He could go anywhere. He has no need of food, shelter, money. If he wanted to, he could live elsewhere, by himself. And yet, he came here. He came to your House, and lives under your rules."

"If he doesn't need me, then why come?"

"Cause he didn't come alone," said Sombra. "When you guys started finishing off Talon, we knew we'd be next. We were going to run, but Papi… He came through for us. Because, despite what he might say or do or even what he might think, he cares about us. And if he cares about us, then he cares about you."

76 didn't say anything at first. He wasn't sure if he even believed it. Gabriel Reyes might have cared for them, and him, but Gabriel Reyes was dead. The Reaper didn't feel. The Reaper didn't care for anyone. Yet, here they were. 76 couldn't deny, Reaper did seem to be protective of his Talon comrades. It reminded Soldier of the way Gabriel would treat McCree and Tracer.

"Anyway, I gotta go," said Sombra. "Me and Lucio are… Well, I'm supposed to be hanging out with Lucio, is what matters. Just try to be easy on Papi, okay?"

Sombra translocated away, leaving Soldier alone with the cold-blooded sniper. Widow gave Soldier one last glare before making her way for the door.

"We are all trying to adjust to this life, Morrison. Gabriel might be a fils de pute, but he is trying. For me, and for Sombra," said Widowmaker, pausing in the doorframe. "He's done more than Overwatch ever did." Widow glanced back at Soldier, letting out a small, shaky sigh. "I'm not supposed to feel anything, Morrison. I am not meant to have friends. But Gabriel… We are kindred spirits. He understands what I've been through in a way no one ever could. And for that… For that, I cannot deny that he is my friend."

Widowmaker vanished, leaving Soldier alone with his thoughts. Widow never opened up like this. The two Talon mercenaries were being surprisingly protective of their unofficial leader. Soldier didn't know what the three were like before the OverHouse, but they were a family now.

Jack let out a sigh before heading out to the pool to join in on the festivities, thinking about how to make things work.

* * *

Reaper sat at the bar, silently brooding to himself. He didn't want to be there, that much was obvious. Not that Reaper wanted to be anywhere, really. But this pool party… This pool party was true agony. It was chaos, frivolous chaos, to an unbelievable degree. It was money wasted, time wasted. And, for reasons Reaper didn't care to understand, he was forced to participate.

A glass slid in front of Reaper, filled with a slightly amber liquid. He glanced to his left, where Soldier 76 was taking a seat, a glass of whiskey in tow. Reaper lifted the glass, which he surmised was filled with tequila, and stared at it for a moment.

"It's not poison," grunted Soldier. "It's safe to drink."

"Hm… Why are you here?" asked Reaper.

"Sombra has been messing with Symmetra and, after dealing with that little debacle, I needed a drink." Soldier sipped his whiskey, never looking at his former friend. "Thought you might be interested."

Reaper said nothing. He took a sip of his drink, before setting it down and returning to his silent brooding. Soldier let the silence persist for a moment before reaching out again.

"How do you even drink with that mask on?"

"You've been spending too much time with Oxton."

"Heh. Not enough time, if you ask me," chuckled Soldier. "I remember when she was a cadet. She's grown a lot."

"She's loud. Careless. Reckless." Reaper took another sip. "She needs discipline."

"Maybe if you were more involved with her…"

"She needs… To learn…" Reaper let out a cough, shaking his head firmly. He drained his glass before tossing it to the side and, inexplicably, reached into his coat and withdrew another glass of tequila. "She's going to get herself killed."

"She misses you, Reyes. All of us do," said Soldier. "Angie, Ana, Rein. The young bloods, too. Jesse and Lena and—"

"Fareeha. She… She spoke to me some time ago…" Reaper's hands began to quake slightly, and he took a deep, rattling breath. "Talked about… How we met…"

"Listen, Reyes. I know we've had our differences," sighed Soldier. "And I know things between us have been a shitshow. But I just wanted to say… I miss the way things used to be. And… I understand that you're doing your best. So, I wanted to… Apologize. For being so hard on you."

Reaper let out a groan, his body trembling. Soldier glanced at him, rolling his eyes. Of course, Reaper would ruin this moment by being dramatic. It was always his thing. But, just as he was about to call Reaper out, he noticed how he clutched at his ribs. His fingers began to quake, smoking faintly.

"Reyes?" Soldier stood up, concerned. "Are you—"

Reaper let out a howl that froze Soldier's blood. It was pain, but more so than that, it was not the voice of the Reaper. That scream of pain wasn't from the deathbringer, the mercenary. That scream was from Gabriel Reyes.

"What the hell, Reyes? What's happening?"

"I… Need… Sombra…"

Soldier looked around the pool area, his eyes scanning for Sombra. The rest of the House watched in concern as Sombra leapt from the pool and bounded forward, sliding to a stop next to Reaper.

"Jesus, Papi, what's happening?!" Sombra gently grabbed him by the shoulder, which only made Reyes tremble and smoke more.

"Call her!" he shouted. Sombra visibly paled, even as she raised her hands and began typing.

"Papi, you told me never to call her," said Sombra. "Are you sure about this?"

"She's the only one… Who can fix… This…"

"Who?" demanded Soldier.

"The… The Doctor…" Reaper collapsed the floor, unable to move. Smoke continued to waft from his body, even as he lay motionless on the floor. "The one… Who made me…"

"I thought it was Angela who made you this way."

"Ziegler only started this… Moira is the one who finished it…"


	15. Fiche a sé

"Move it, soldiers!" 76 ran through the halls as fast as he could with his former friend on his back. He could hear Sombra and Widowmaker at his heels, as they all ran to the sickbay that the healers were in the process of prepping.

"Jack! Get him in here!"

76 lugged Reaper into the sickbay, immediately depositing him onto one of the beds. Immediately, Mercy was on him, beaming out a Healing Stream from her Caduceus Staff. Ana sat at a workbench a bit of the ways away, mixing together a Nano Grenade cocktail to expedite the healing process. Even Lucio was helping, using his music to slowly assist in Reaper's stabilization.

"Damn it, Papi…" Sombra looked on nervously. "I've never seen you hurting this bad before…"

"If you're not a Healer, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," said Mercy, laser-focused on her work. "Gabriel needs his space."

"With all due respect, Angel," said Sombra. "Ask me to leave again, it's gonna get muy sucio. ¿Entiendes?"

"If you want us gone, you're going to have to shoot us," agreed Widow.

"Jack, please." Mercy glanced at the former Talon agents. "Help."

"They stay. If something happened to you, Lena would want to be here. Let them stick around for Reyes."

"Fine! Just stay out of the way."

"Angela, my Nano cocktail is ready," said Ana, approaching with a syringe filled with a golden liquid. "Prep him for injection."

Mercy and Ana stripped Reaper's coat from his body. His torso quaked and became enveloped in smoke, the pale, greying skin seeming to bubble and fizz. Mercy hesitated for a moment. Her training had never prepared her for something of this nature. Still, she was a Healer, and she was bound to do everything she could for Gabriel. Mercy cleaned the injection site before plunging the syringe into his chest.

"A-angela…" Reaper trembled. "Jack…I'm… Sorry…"

"Sorry?" asked Mercy, confused. "For what, Gabriel."

"We… Blackwatch… London… Jesse wanted to go… Didn't stop him..."

"He's delusional," said Jack. "He thinks London is still under attack."

"Mein gott… He's not reacting to the nanites…" Mercy bit her lip in thought, trying to work out what to do next. She had never dealt with anything like this before and, if she didn't act quickly, there was no telling how much time Gabriel had left. "Jack… I don't know what to do."

"It wouldn't be the first time, would it, Ziegler?"

The air grew tense and solid, and all eyes were on the door. Standing there, arms crossed over her chest and a wicked grin on her face, was a tall, thin woman with pale skin and short, straight ginger hair. She wore a strange garb, some sort of mix between a bodysuit and a flowing robe, and on her back was a large tank of some bubbling purple liquid. The room fell silent, the tension growing.

"Moira…" hissed Mercy, glaring at her adversary.

"Good to see you again, Doctor Ziegler," said Moira with a smirk. "It's been far too long."

"Not long enough, if you ask me."

"O'Deorain." Widowmaker curled her nose as if she had smelled something rotten. "I thought we were done with you."

"And I thought the work of our organization had left you without the capacity for independent thought." Moira surveyed the room for a bit. "It seems both of us need to challenge our assumptions of the world. I require the services of Morrison, Ziegler, and…" Her piercing eyes, one scarlet and the other deep purple, panned the room until they found Sombra, who seemed frozen by her very gaze. "My good friend Sombra. Everyone else must leave."

"Listen here, O'Deorain," snarled 76. "You don't give orders around here. My people stay."

"Hm. Then it seems I misunderstood the situation," said Moira. "When Sombra contacted me, she told me that Reyes was in trouble, again."

"I… I did, Doctor O'Deorain," said Sombra nervously. "Papi really needs you."

"You also assured me that I would have whatever I need in order to work." Moira inspected her long, sharp fingernails, thoroughly uninterested by the fact that Gabriel was groaning in pain just a few feet away. "And I need as few distractions as possible. If you are not necessary to me, you are a detriment. Leave."

"Abuelo… Do what she says." Sombra's voice seemed lacking in her usual humor or confidence. There was no other way to look at it: Sombra was terrified of Moira. "Please."

Soldier glared at Moira, but took notice of Sombra's tone. After a beat of thought, 76 cocked his head to the door. Slowly, uncomfortably, the room emptied out. Last through the door was Widowmaker, who gave a backwards glance to Moira.

"Fix him, O'Deorain. Or you will answer to me," said Widow. "I've played nice with you on Reyes' instructions. Do not underestimate how much protection you've received from him. I owe you for more than one transgression."

"Lovely chat as always, Lacroix, now hop off so I can work." Moira waved Widow away dismissively. Widow slowly stalked away, though Moira was certain she wouldn't be too far away. "So, Ziegler, how have you tried to kill our patient today?"

"I could very well ask you the same thing," remarked Mercy. "Gabriel has been fine all this time, and you were nowhere to be found. Now, all of a sudden he starts falling apart and you just so happen to be a phone call away!"

"I knew that Reyes would be on borrowed time. Perhaps if I had gotten to him first, he'd be more stable. Sadly, I was forced to clean up your blunders." Moira cocked her brow at Mercy, beyond amused by the fury on the good doctor's face. "What have you done to attempt to treat him? I cannot begin to fix him until I know of your failures."

"Nanite treatment." Mercy wasn't at all pleased by the way she was being spoken to, but there were more important things than pride at the moment. "Ana Amari's compound."

"Pah. Amari's compound. You may as well taken him out back and put a round in his head." Moira shook her head, inspecting Gabriel's quaking, smoking, dissipating body. "Luckily for you, I can fix this with relative ease."

"Do it," ordered 76.

"Oh, but things don't work quite like that, Commander Morrison. We live in a world bound by the concept of quid pro quo. Nothing is free." Moira approached Gabriel, snapping the fingers on her left hand. A small orb of bubbling golden energy formed from a port in her arm, contained in space as she neared her patient. "I will fix Gabriel, but I require something from you."

"After all you've done, you expect me to do something for you?" scoffed 76.

"I do. The alternative is a pile of ash and leather where Gabriel Reyes once sat. I know what you think of me, but you still believe in him. He deserves a second chance, and your greed may rob him of that." Moira could feel the tension rise, the anger of the room directed towards her, but it was nothing she wasn't used to. The only thing she was concerned with was the power balance, and who had more sway in negotiations. Of course, it was her. "If I am to undo Ziegler's mistakes and properly stabilize The Reaper, I will need a place to stay and work. Protection. And, most importantly, materials."

"You want a room?!" demanded Mercy. "It will be a cold day in hell before I work alongside the likes of—"

"The likes of a superior doctor? I know it must burn you up inside to know that I was right regarding my research and you were horribly, dreadfully, almost comically wrong, but you really must let it go, Angela." Moira's voice lacked Mercy's anger, but made up for it with raw, dripping venom. "I'm not asking for much. A place to sleep, a place to work, and a few odds and ends for some experiments. A small price to pay for your friend's life."

"Doctor O'Deorain, I don't know what it is you need, but I guarantee I can find it for you," said Sombra. "Abuelo will give you a room, and you can use Winston's lab until Satya can come up with a space for you. Just fix Papi."

"Ever the peacekeeper, Sombra, but I'm afraid I'll need Commander Morrison's word to feel at ease." Moira faced 76, turning her Biotic Orb over in her hand. "What do you say, Jack? Surely you don't despise me enough to let your good friend die."

76 clenched his jaw, every fiber of his being screaming to arrest Moira. A good chunk if his troubles could be linked back to the doctor. It wasn't until she joined Overwatch did things start going south. She was a mad scientist with no regard for ethics or human life. She was unpredictable, self-serving, malicious, and dangerous.

And, if 76 wanted Gabriel to live, she would also be the newest resident of the OverHouse.

"I've got a long, long shit list, O'Deorain," said 76. "And you're sitting comfortably at the top."

"I would expect nothing less," said Moira, extending her right hand. "So I presume we have a deal?"

"Fix Reyes. Then we'll talk about your research." 76 begrudgingly shook Moira's hand, to Mercy's visible disgust. "Now get to work."

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Moira held her Biotic Orb over Garbiel's fallen body before crushing it in her hand. A dusting of nanites rained down onto Gabriel, coating his body and bathing him in a golden glow. Almost immediately, his trembling halted, the smoke emanating from his body dissipated. Mercy checked his vital signs, amazed to see that he was stabilizing.

"Wake up, Reyes," said Moira. "There's much to be discussed."

"Moira! The man just nearly fell apart!" said Mercy. "He needs time to rest."

"I'm afraid I've been too busy making actually tangible progress in my studies to worry myself with my bedside manner. Reyes. Up. Now."

"He needs time!"

"I do not operate on Reyes' schedule, Doctor Ziegler." Moira turned to her rival with a vicious snarl, her right hand twitching slightly. "And I most assuredly do not operate on yours. Challenge me if you so desire, but understand that I only managed to stabilize Reyes. There will come a time when you need me to patch him up again, and I may not be quite so compliant."

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear…"

Mercy jumped in fright at the growling, sinister sound of The Reaper's voice as he rose from his bed. A blanket of smoke descended onto his body, forming into his trademark black jacket. He stepped forward, slowly closing the distance between himself and Mercy.

"I do not need any more of your help or pity, Ziegler," growled Reaper, standing a mere few feet from the good doctor. "Whether you choose to take responsibility or not, it is your fault that I'm like this. You've helped enough."

"Gabriel…" Mercy would've gotten more out, if not for Reaper turning away to face Moira.

"That being said… Ziegler acted to save me. You… You saw me as just another experiment. I may hate Ziegler, but there's not a word that exists that captures how much I despise you, O'Deorain."

"Please, Reyes, spare me the theatrics," said Moira with a yawn. "You weren't complaining when I was keeping you together and helping you tick off that list of yours. If you think your righteous anger will phase me, then—"

In one swift movement, Reaper drew a shotgun from his coat, shoving the barrel beneath Moira's chin. The doctor, taken off guard for the first time, stood in shock, and with the beginnings of fear on her face.

"Ziegler will monitor your experiments. You don't do a thing without her prior knowledge or consent. You live here, you work. You will accept any and all missions given you. Morrison's word is law. Stay in line, or—"

"Or what, Reyes? You think I fear you?" asked Moira. "This is twice I've brought you back from the dead, and you threaten me? Understand that it is me with control here. Not Doctor Ziegler. Not Commander Morrison. And certainly not The Reaper!"

"Stay in line, or I'll put shot in that big brain of yours myself." Mercy and 76's eyes went wide. That voice… That was not The Reaper talking.

"Without me, you're a pile of dust on the floor," said Moira. Gabriel brought his hand to his face and, inexplicably, removed his mask. His scarred, shredded, ghastly face beamed pure, raw intensity. This was not a man in the mood to play games.

"Search my eyes. Tell me if you think I give a damn."

Reaper tossed his gun to the side, returning his mask before slowly heading for the door. Moira stood there, shock evident on her features for just a moment before she recomposed herself. She chuckled darkly as she shrugged. This wasn't going quite as she had expected, but that was okay. She was still in a good spot, as far as she was concerned, and her plan was still on track.

"Very well, Reyes. I'll play nice," said Moira with a chuckle. "Now, if you excuse me, I think I'll go meet my new housemates."

Moira took a step, fading into purple smoke and disappearing through the doorway. Sombra, previously silent, quickly rushed to Reaper's side, giving him a sideways glance.

"You were worried," noted Reaper.

"Psh. Me? Worried? Nah, you got it all wrong, Papi," said Sombra, rather unconvincingly. "It's just too much fun messing with you to let you die. Besides, who's gonna get hermana out of bed if you're not around? That girl isn't what I'd call a morning person." Sombra chuckled weakly, nervously glancing at Reaper. "But you're okay, right?"

"I'll live. I'm going to the pool. Someone has to keep an eye on O'Deorain." Reaper took a step before pausing. "And Morrison… You owe me a drink…"


End file.
